A kind of magic
by KCousland
Summary: Another answer to a Cheeky Monkeys challenge. A collection of one-shots and drabbles where Tara Amell tries to make Zevran happy, with mixed results.
1. The encounter

_The challenge on the CMDA board (here shortened by me) reads as follow: "__So first Shakespira made Zev shamefully fall off the dragon just when he wanted to show off a bit. Then KCousland's Kallian punched him in the nose. And not just once. Twice! Don't get me wrong, ladies, I loved it. But there are very few stories with Zevran and even fewer that have a happy end. Rinna dies, Warden dies, Zev dies. So please please pretty please, I know most of you are Coulistairs, but please make Zev happy, too! Zev/anyone, smut or not, angsty or fluffy or silly, the only condition is the happy end. Pretty please?"_

_I am guilty as charged, I admit, on all counts (even on being a shameless Coulistair, sorry!) But I do so love a challenge. This is my attempt at making Zevran happy. I'm finding he's a hard man to please._

_Like __Crazy Little Thing__, this story will not be a retelling of the game. Chapters will be very loosely tied together. It's mostly a collection of scenes of various lengths, in somewhat chronological order. It will be very randomly sprinkled with quotes from the game, mixed up with some original dialogue and in the end, Zevran will be happy. I promise._

_To you, dear challenger: I know I kept you waiting and I'm sorry. I sincerely hope this was worth the wait._

_Finally, a million thanks to my beta, Epiphany Sola Gratia!_

_Enjoy!_

* * *

_One dream, one soul, one prize, one goal,  
__One golden glance of what should be_

_~Queen, __A kind of magic_

_Lift, block, strike._

He knew the dance too well. Adrenaline rushed through his body as he fought, awakening ghosts of feelings he used to have. Exhilaration. Joy. Accomplishment.

_Sidestep, feint, sweep._

Now it was all just a well-rehearsed choreography: a mechanical, passionless dance by an emotionless, methodical performer.

_Step, raise, shove_.

The Grey Warden was a good dancer, true, but not fast enough, not for him. He was relentless, though, his attacks following one another effortlessly, but all this heavy Templar armour and shield made him slower. Zevran knew how to take advantage of that. His whole body knew. Unfortunately.

_Back step, dodge, push._

The flurry of attacks left the assassin no time to plan, to think. The weapon that was his body was acting automatically, his instincts too honed, too strong. Like everything else in his life, his own death would have to be earned. He just wanted it to _stop_. If only he could _stop_.

And then, as if wishes could suddenly come true, he did.

He felt himself lift off the ground, felt his arms spread wide, his whole body immobilized by a crushing, invisible force. He heard a woman's laughter in the distance, saw the grim determination in the Grey Warden's eyes as he charged, his shield held high.

_Finally._

* * *

Zevran was regaining consciousness. That was an unpleasant, rather horrible sensation, not to mention a surprising one. He didn't think he would wake up at all, really. Not ever again.

The pain was a more familiar, ever-present sensation, dulled as it was, and his mind clung to it, his eyes still closed. His chest… his whole chest hurt. He remembered a huge shield, coming in fast, crashing hard into him, sending him flat on the ground… and he didn't remember much after that, his whole world had faded to black.

Being awake, alive, made his chest hurt way beyond the physical pain.

His hands hurt, too. The explanation for that was soon made pretty obvious: they were bound behind his back, chafed raw by the ropes and the… bark? He was sitting, apparently, leaning back against a tree, his legs spread before him. His thighs hurt. They felt… crushed.

_Wounded, defeated, restrained… helpless._

Well, apparently he had failed on an epic level today. Failed ambush, failed assassination and failed death, all wrapped up in one catastrophic event. Everything hurt. Maybe if his eyes stayed closed, the darkness might engulf him again…

… _just want the pain to stop… _

His left cheek hurt, too, a burning, lingering sensation. He was trying to pin down the feeling when he got slapped hard on his other cheek. Well… this explained that, he supposed.

"Wake up, sexy!" sang an amused female voice, suspiciously close. "I've got such a nice surprise waiting for you!"

Groaning weakly, he opened one careful eye, and found himself staring at a very generous bosom dandling right under his nose.

"Hmph, huh… what?"

He opened his other eye in a valiant attempt to try and make more sense of the situation.

"Hm… oh."

His allies lay around the caravan, all dead. Three people were now standing around him, their weapons still at the ready: a red-haired girl with a bow, an old lady in mages robes, and the Grey Warden warrior that was supposed to be one of his intended targets.

The other Warden, the mage, was _sitting on him_, straddling his thighs, pressing her breasts up his nose and a very sharp dagger to his throat… but the dangerous, although slightly disconcerting position was not what got his immediate attention. Just what kind of kinky mage robes was she _wearing_, exactly? Plunging neckline, adjusted waist, short skirt, bared thighs… wait… were those _thigh-high black stockings_?

Well, well… this was another matter entirely.

The flat of the blade was pressed more firmly against his throat, reminding him of his precarious position, and he brought his eyes back up to her face, swallowing loudly. He couldn't die like this, bound, immobilised and helpless, every muscle screaming in agony. It felt too much like giving in, like giving up.

_Crows don't quit_. Ha!

It shouldn't matter. He didn't deserve to live, and so it shouldn't matter how he died. And yet…

A pair of pale blue eyes stared back at him from behind a mess of long, unnaturally red hair.

"They're golden!" the woman exulted, wiping the hair away from her face impatiently. "Pay up!"

The warrior bent to look him in the eyes, then mumbled a curse under his breath as he sheathed his weapon, fumbling to get a little coin purse tied to his belt. "You know, technically they're more of a light honeyed brown…"

"Don't be a sore loser, sweetie," the woman in his lap said, catching the tossed coin purse. "It's not attractive."

_Now wait just a second_…

"You… you bet on the colour of my eyes?"

He remembered… as he drew his weapons, shouting death threats, he saw surprise ripple through the enemy line, a hesitation that could have been fatal. Then _she_ was back on her feet, after dodging a _tree_, no less, laughing and shouting gleefully, and that hesitation vanished, replaced by enthusiastic, lethal efficiency.

"Well," the woman in his lap said with a shrug, looking at him sternly, "you see, as the leader of our group, I feel it is my duty to keep things entertaining. No offense, but that little ambush of yours was one of the most boring things that has happened to me all week."

Well, he didn't kill her, but at least he managed to bore her, so not an utter failure then… It is possible to be bored to death after all, and you know what they say about small victories…

The Crows would probably be coming for him then. He felt a visceral disgust at the thought.

_No. Not like this. Not by their hands. _

It shouldn't matter.

It did.

The woman pursed her lips. "Although I'll admit, it has been a rather… spectacular week so far… so don't feel too bad."

She ran the flat of the blade slowly across his throat, then threw the dagger away with a flick of her wrist and he felt fingers dig into his cheeks as she took his face between her hands. "We won't need that, now, right, sexy?" she asked, her voice sultry. "You're going to put that pretty mouth of yours to good use and tell Tara everything you know, right?"

Was she… flirting? Exactly how hard did he hit his head?

He tested the ties, subtly. The knots were pretty solid. Maybe he could have found a way to get out of them, but the woman was way too close not to notice, especially since even the ever-so-small shifting of his arms brought burning pain to his shoulders.

Talking seemed his best option. He didn't owe anyone any loyalty… not anymore.

"Of course…" he managed to croak, pleased when he heard his voice sounding more confident than he thought it would. "After all, I wasn't paid for silence, not that I offered it for sale, exactly."

The Warden seemed very pleased.

"See, Alistair?" she said, looking over her shoulder. "He's very cooperative. I told you, I'm a people person. I know how to put someone at ease."

A scoff from the man and a giggle from the archer answered her. Zevran felt his eyebrows rise almost on their own. When that Howe fellow hired him, he had failed to mention how… interesting his targets were going to be. He let his body relax, felt the mask fall back on. This was no new terrain; it was another kind of dance, one he knew just as well.

"Tara…" the older woman said in a scolding tone, and the young mage actually _pouted_, like a reprimanded child.

"But Wy-y-ynne… you can't say my tactics aren't effective?"

"Indeed," Zevran said, "I feel most inclined to keep this young beauty happy by any means necessary." He even sounded sincere. Crow training was indeed one of the hardest, deepest, and most thorough in the world.

_Do not show fear. Do not show weakness. Do not show incommensurable, suicidal despair. Do not show _anything_._

The girl turned back to him with a smile. "Yes, exactly! I'm satisfied to have him _pinned_ _down_ here, and he's satisfied to be pinned _down here_. Everybody wins!"

"Well, the view _is_ quite entertaining…" Zevran said, licking his lips. He wasn't lying, not exactly, the words falling from his lips like a well-rehearsed text. She looked like a worthy partner, enthusiastic, at least, and that made the thrill of the game even more exciting.

_Exciting? _

"Yes, yes, _entertaining_!" she was saying, exulting. "See how good I am at this?"

The old woman sighed, but could not quite hide the little smile playing on her lips. Tara, however, had turned her attention back to him and was considering him thoughtfully, her fingers playing with a lock of her deep red hair.

"You know what? I like you, sexy," she said at length, swapping him lightly on his chest. "I will like you a lot more when you start talking though…"

"Then I will not make you wait one more second, dear lady. What is it you wish to know? Who hired me, surely?"

"Hmm, so eager to please…" she whispered, mirth in her eyes. "Why, yes, that's a good place to start…"

"It was a rather taciturn fellow in the capital…"

The blond warrior frowned.

"Loghain."

"Ah, yes, that makes sense," she nodded. "Very good, sweetie! See? We're very clever people." She wrapped another lock of her hair around her finger, looking thoughtful. "But then…" She looked up at him, and something dark and cold flash in her eyes, gone in an instant. A mischievous twinkle replaced it. "I want to know what possessed the man to hire such a poor excuse for an assassin instead of someone who can do his job properly…"

"Tara, if he was any better at his job, we would be dead right now," the warrior said in a reasonable tone.

"Are you telling me this because you think I don't know, sweetie?" she asked, amused. "What I mean is that it makes no sense from Loghain's perspective. I mean, he must have asked for references, right? Why would he hire such an inept assassin?"

Zevran was torn. On one hand, he couldn't just admit that the ambush had been planned to fail. On the other hand… he was not an inept assassin! Was… was he actually feeling _offended_?

"Oh, fine! Is that what you Fereldans do, mock your prisoners? Such cruelty!"

Well… It seemed he was.

"Hmm… no…" Tara answered him, looking thoughtful again. "I think Fereldan prisoners are usually… tortured. Is that it, Ali?"

"How would _I_ know?"

"Well, remember that deserter at Ostagar? He was in his smallclothes in a suspended cage, and he was bloodied all over and had nothing to eat. He was tortured, right?"

"I suppose…"

"All right, then, torture it is! I wouldn't want to break Ferelden's traditions, after all…" She raised her hands in front of his face, blue electric sparkles running between her spread fingers. He felt his heart suddenly beat faster in fear and relished in the sensation, even as his body tensed against the threat of yet more pain to come.

He smiled.

"Mm, so you kept me around to have a bit of fun, yes? But isn't interrogation the whole point of torture? I am already offering free information."

Tara pouted, then looked over her shoulder at the warrior.

"He has a point," the man conceded.

"But he hasn't even answered my question yet!" Tara said, bringing her gaze back to him. "Just a little _zap_?"

"Oh, do what you want with him, I don't really care. I was on the 'kill him before he wakes up' team, if you remember correctly…" the warrior said, shrugging.

Aw, and there Zevran thought they had that male-bonding thing going on. Oh well, too bad.

"What I meant to say," he began, clearing his throat, "is that I do come with excellent references. My name is Zevran, Zev to my friends. I am part of the Crows. Surely you've heard of us?"

"Oh yeah, sure! Senior Enchanter Sweeney taught us all about foreign assassins in between elemental lessons, back at the Tower…"

The older mage actually burst out laughing, which honestly was his first clue that the Warden was joking, because her face kept a very serious expression all through the lie.

"I can tell you what the Crows are, Tara," the red-haired archer intervened.

"Yes, yes, I know, honey, you were a very worldly, mysteriously knowledgeable woman before you joined the Chantry and became very, very dull," Tara said, waving her away. "I don't care, really, who the Crows are. So, sexy, what you're saying is that you're supposed to be good at this, which honestly only means that there is no excuse for this pathetic ambush. So Loghain hired you, huh? When were you supposed to see him next?"

"I wasn't. If I had succeeded, I would have returned home and the Crows would have informed your Loghain of the result, if he didn't already know. If I had failed, I would be dead, or I should be at least as far as the Crows are concerned. No need to see Loghain then."

She frowned, the expression almost comical on her face. "_If_ you had failed?"

"What can I say, I'm an eternal optimist. Although the chances of succeeding at this point seem a bit slim, don't they?" His laugh had a slight edge of hysteria to it, even to his own ears. She simply looked at him, eyebrows raised. Oh, how crazed he must have sounded to her. "No, I don't suppose you'd find that funny, would you?"

It was, though. Hilarious, even.

"What now, then?" she asked at length.

_Yes, what now, indeed_?

"Well, if you're done interrogating me, I have a proposition for you, if you're of a mind."

They led dangerous lives, this mismatched group of unlikely heroes. He could use being put in dangerous, potentially lethal situations on a daily basis, to think of it. He certainly wasn't keen on the idea of giving the Crows the satisfaction of ending his life. There would always be time to die later. Time, and opportunity, it seemed.

She looked just mad enough to let her would-be assassin live and provide him with some much-needed protection. Well… maybe not. Then again, what did he have to lose? Living in this woman's shadow promised to be… _entertaining_, at least. He could use some entertainment. It had been a long time since he had felt this intrigued… or felt anything, really.

"Here's the thing: I failed to assassinate you, so the Crows will kill me. That's how it works. The thing is, I like living. So let me serve you, instead, yes? I join you and help you any way I can, and in exchange you don't let my ex-employers kill me. What do you say?"

She scoffed. "You want to _join_ me, do you, sexy? Be careful what you wish for…"

Now what did _that_ mean?

She sat back a little to get a better look at him.

"You must think I'm royally stupid."

Well, that wasn't a "no", was it?

"I think you are royally tough to kill.,, and utterly gorgeous."

"Really?" she said as her eyebrows rose in incredulity.

"Not that I think you'll respond to simple flattery, but really, I can think of worse fate than serving the whims of a deadly sex-goddess." Better her than the Crows any time.

"Mmm… I like that. I think this should be my new nickname. Hear that, people? That is how you're going to address me from now on!"

"Not a chance," the other Grey Warden deadpanned.

She didn't look back at him, keeping her focus on Zevran. "What can you do, exactly?"

That sounded less and less like a refusal.

"I am skilled at many things, from fighting to stealth and picking locks…"

"Hmm, well I already have one wicked charming rogue with a sketchy past for all that, don't I, honey?"

"You sure do, Tara," the archer said with a wink.

"I could also warn you should the Crows attempt something else…"

"Yeah… see… here's the thing… I'm not afraid of the Crows so much, and that's kinda because of you, sexy. Let them come, for all I care. What else?"

_Brasca!_

"I could also stand around and look pretty, if you prefer. Warm your bed? Fend off unwanted suitors? No?"

Her eyes sparkled mischievously.

"Ah, see, now we're talking! You should have opened with that little suggestion! So what are your bed-warming skills, exactly? Don't leave out any…"

"Tara!" the older mage scolded, and the woman's mouth snapped shut, her expression almost guilty. Zevran wasn't about to lose this opportunity, though.

"I knew we could find a common interest… or two… or three…" He winked. "Really, I could go on all night…"

Tara smiled widely.

"I feel like you know me so well already! We'll continue this conversation later, in private, away from… sensitive ears."

"Does that mean I'm tagging along?"

She thought it over.

"Promise you won't try to kill me again?"

"I can only make that promise if you take me with you. There's no way to know what will become of me if you leave me here, after all…"

"Well, you're a clever little fox, aren't you?" An amused smile was playing on her lips as she looked at him thoughtfully. "If I leave you here, I leave you dead."

Then he would have succeeded at one thing today, at least… There was something to say for that "nothing left to lose" attitude. It seemed to him it was more healthy than people usually let on. Maybe she'd even let him get on his feet, first.

"Very well, I accept your offer," she said at length, sounding very official.

"What? You're taking the assassin with us now?" the warrior protested.

"Aw, don't be jealous, sweetie, it doesn't suit you. Beside, you know I still like you best…" she said over her shoulder before turning back to him, winking mischievously.

"I'm not - that's not why - how can you…" the man sputtered, and Zevran, despite his seemingly precarious position, tried hard to keep from laughing. "Oh, fine, have it your way!"

"I hereby pledge my oath of loyalty to you, until such a time as you choose to release me from it. I am your man, without reservation. This I swear," he said, the oath falling effortlessly from his lips.

"Well aren't we very officially friends now?" she said, laughing. "You sound like you're used to giving your life away to crazy people." She leaned over his shoulder and untied his wrists, before placing both her hands flat on his chest. "I guess that means I can call you Zev, now, right? Wanna see what I can do, Zev?"

Before he could answer, her hands on his chest started to glow in a soft blue light. He felt the distinct tingling of healing magic on his skin, cool and refreshing, and he sighed in contentment as the pain in his chest slowly abated. He opened his mouth to thank her, but all that came out was a strangled gasp when he felt the tingling intensify, spreading wider, penetrating deep inside him… feeling absolutely _amazing_.

The cool, healing tendrils of Tara's magic were coursing through him, leisurely following what seemed like every vein and every nerve of his body, replacing any lingering pain with blissful rejuvenation. As the overwhelming sensation reached his extremities, he realized his breathing had grown uneven, coming in short gasps. His whole body arched into her hands, the blue light now pulsing between her fingers, each surge of magic increasing the intensity of the sensation to a point of near-unbearable sensitivity.

Then her hands glowed red, and soothing warmth spread from his chest through his whole body, reducing his muscles to relaxed contented jelly. After the intensity of the healing magic, the numbness that came with the warmth brought relief so overwhelming and sudden that Zevran felt like he was losing control of his body altogether. Exhilarating… and immensely frightening.

Her hands glowed blue again, and a cool, revitalizing sensation pushed through the warmth. Somehow the contrast in sensations made it even more intense.

Every muscle and nerve was awakening, sensitive to every tiny feeling. Time… slowed. He could feel the soft brush of his hair caressing his cheek with exquisite acuity, the breeze on his skin sending a shiver down his spine. And… he could feel her. He felt the soft touch of her fingers through the leather, the pressure of her palm over his heart, the warmth of her body where her thighs were pressed against his. He felt like he was floating, weightless, and she was the only force keeping him grounded. No more bounds. No more wounds. _No more pain._

And then it stopped.

He caught her wrists in his hands as she started to move away, and she smiled smugly upon seeing the awestruck look on his face.

"You liked that, did you? I can tell… Don't get used to this, though, it won't always feel like this… I just thought I'd do something special, you know, because I've threatened you with torture and you've been such a nice prisoner…"

She got off him, extending a hand to help him up. He stood on shaky legs, feeling ridiculously unstable. The loss of her healing magic had left him… oddly empty. _Vulnerable_.

"Well," Zevran said, not managing to make his voice sound quite as casual as he might have liked, "I can see that it is in my best interest to always be very nice to you, my lovely Grey Warden."

"And don't you forget it!"


	2. Looking in

_Author's notes: Hi everyone! Thank you so much for the amazing feedback and reviews!_

_I find myself really inspired by music while writing this fic, which is kind of a new process for me. The lyrics I'm putting at the beginning of chapters are lyrics from songs that I listen to while writing that chapter, that helped me get into the right mood. I know some readers like to know these kind of things and I thought I could mention it. Feel free to ignore them, though!_

_As always, many thanks to my beta, Epiphany Sola Gratia!_

* * *

_I'm on the outside, I'm looking in,  
__I can see through you, see your true colours,  
_'_Cause inside you're ugly, you're ugly like me,  
__I can see through you, see to the real you._

_~ Staind, Outside_

It wasn't long before he encountered his first darkspawn.

He'd heard the tales, of course, but stories didn't exactly do the beasts justice. He wasn't prepared for the smell, for one thing: the powerful, sickening stench that made it almost impossible to breathe around them. The stories didn't speak of the sounds either: the thundering roar as they charged, the revolting, gurgling noise that rose from their throats as they fought.

They fought like savages, too, all brute force and powerful strokes, no finesse and no strategy to the attack, and they were impossibly difficult to kill. He had already been warned not to let the blood come into contact with any orifices or wounds, and he was very careful. Dying of the Blight disease was a horrendous way to go.

There were better ways, for sure, he thought, raising his weapon to parry a vicious attack. Fighting the darkspawn provided him with a plethora of opportunities, if he could force his body into it.

_What if he did not take that side step, what if he took a second longer to raise his sword, what if he didn't turn around in time… _

The darkspawn roared, his weapon raised above him, and… promptly erupted into flames.

"Zevran! Get your head in the game!"

He saw a flash of red hair out of the corner of his eyes and deliberately turned his back to her. An enemy was charging him and he slid into a defence stance.

_What if… his guard was too high? Too low?_

The darkspawn tackled him, sending him to the ground, winded.

"Damn it, Sexy, I thought you said you were good at killing! Come on!"

A flash of lightning, and the imposing, heavy carcass of a dead darkspawn crushed him. He lay there, stunned, blinking, for what seemed like an eternity.

"Zevran! Come on, on your feet! I need you!"

The words rang in his head, echoes of another plea, voices superposed…

_I need you, Zevran, please don't…_

He pushed the corpse off him and got to his feet. She was closer, now, her back to him, shooting bolt after bolt at a rapidly approaching darkspawn. Four long strides and he was in front of her, weapons raised. The darkspawn didn't even slow down, neatly impaling itself on his sword. He heard her gasp behind him. Only then did he lower his gaze, seeing the darkspawn's blade stuck in his own chest, a second before the pain hit him. The beast fell to the ground, gurgling, and then she was there, in front of him, grasping the hilt of the sword in his gut, and she _pulled_.

Blinding, excruciating pain wracked his whole body. His knees buckled under him and he fell forward, completely unable to stay upright or to break his fall in any way. He confusedly thought that dying saving the damsel in distress was way too good a death for a failed assassin like him, but then again, so be it. At this point, he wasn't picky.

She caught him.

He was vaguely aware of the ground against his back, firm and unyielding. Then her hands were on him and her magic was inside him… and _brasca_ it felt amazing, like she was pushing pure light and warmth back into his body, making them flow all through him. The pain was ebbing away, replaced by overwhelming relief, pleasure, ecstasy.

_Life._

His whole body arched into her touch, greedily absorbing every bit of her magic she gave him, drinking it in, until the pain was nothing but a vaguely unpleasant memory.

"All right, Zev. Come on."

He blinked up at her as she scrambled back to her feet. He was feeling oddly dazed, but strangely focused at the same time. A diffused warmth lingered in his chest, where her hands had been pressed, as if her fingers had touched him deeper than skin. She was smiling down at him, a small, sad little smile.

"Thank you," he managed to croak. She shrugged, extending her hand to him.

"You need healing," she said, simply. "That's what I'm here for." He grabbed her hand, held on to it to get on his feet.

"Now back into the fight, Sexy!" she said with a smile and a slap on his rear.

And back into the fight he went.

* * *

He was watching them as they went about their business around the campfire, cleaning, polishing or sharpening equipment, sewing, reading, or cutting vegetables. No one seemed to pay him any attention, but Zevran knew appearances were deceiving. He could sometimes catch one of them sneaking a glance at him, with various levels of stealth. The Qunari, for example, was downright staring at times.

They were watching him too, no doubt about it.

They had reached the camp a few minutes earlier. Tara, after some summary introductions, had led him towards the fire.

"And everyone, this is Zevran. He tried to kill us this morning but now it's fine. Zev, you sit here. Nobody kills him, 'kay?"

Then she had gone inside one of the tents, closing the flaps behind her. After a minute or two of stunned, tensed silence, the people around the camp had continued with their activities.

Zevran was left to himself, to sit and watch. He was careful to keep his impenetrable, slightly amused mask on. It wouldn't do, to let them see the turmoil in his head.

They were not what he had expected. Well, no, that wasn't totally true. In a way, they were exactly what he had expected. He wasn't fooled. Each and every person here was very, very dangerous. He would have to tread lightly among these people. If he wanted to stay alive… which he was still debating. Still, it was a step up from before.

Most of all, he could see he would have to stay in Tara's good graces. Well, he already had an idea or two on how to do just that.

The archer walked up to him after a while, her dagger in one hand and a cloth in the other, settling down beside him to clean her weapon.

"I'm sure you have questions, no? What is it that you want to know?" she asked, keeping her eyes on the blade in her hands.

His lips curved into a little seductive smile.

"Did you draw the short straw, lovely Leliana?"

"No, nothing like that. It is simply very apparent to me how… unlikely our little band might look from the outside."

"That it is," he nodded. "What is she doing, exactly?" he asked, indicating Tara's tent with a little jerk of the chin.

"We don't know, to be honest. Each time we make up camp, she disappears inside her tent for an hour or two before supper, asking that we do not disturb her. There's never any sound. She reads, probably, or rests, or… writes a journal, maybe?"

"Hmm. What about the others? What are they all saying about me right now?"

"That they don't trust you, mostly. They wonder where to put your tent so that they could easily keep an eye on you. Whether or not to let you have a turn in the night watch. That sort of thing."

"Really? No one's plotting my impending demise? That's new."

"Well, she did give very precise orders not to kill you. She must have her reasons."

"That she must," he said, turning his gaze to the closed tent.

He could feel Leliana's intent stare on him, but she stayed silent.

It was a long time before Tara finally emerged from her tent, dragging a heavy pack.

"Sweetie?" she called out cheerfully. "Do you know what day it is?"

"Hum… I think it's… oh wait, really?" Alistair said, looking up at Tara who was coming up to him, the backpack thrown over one shoulder, "Is it camper's Satinalia again?"

"You bet your sweet, firm, biteable ass it is! Gather round, everyone, let's see what I've got in here!"

"Oh, you should come and see, Zevran, she always has the best gifts!" Leliana said, getting on her feet and extending a hand to him. He caught it and hauled himself up, watching curiously as everyone gather around Tara to sit at her feet… even Morrigan. Even _Sten_.

"Okay, let's see, who's been very, very good? I think everyone has, but I couldn't help noticing that Morrigan hasn't snapped at Alistair all week! We all have to agree that her accomplishment is really amazing, don't we!"

"Indeed."

"Hey!" Alistair interjected.

"All right, Morri, what do I have here for you? Oh, how about this? I think you'll see that all your hard work is being justly rewarded…"

Tara rummaged in her pack, finally pulling out a huge black leather-bound book. Morrigan stared at it, her mouth agape.

"You… you found Mother's grimoire?" she asked softly.

"I sure did! Are you happy?"

"I shall begin reading it immediately," Morrigan stated, grasping the book and scurrying away to her campfire.

"You're welcome!" Tara yelled behind her, smiling. "I can tell she's happy and that's enough for me! Plus, I foresee some quiet nights ahead for the rest of us…" She winked, then plunged her hands in the pack again.

"Here, Sten, look at this!" she said, holding a small painting. "I thought of you when I saw this, for your… em… prayers or whatever. Do you like it?"

"Yes. Thank you," Sten said, taking the painting and retiring to his tent. Zevran thought he saw the Qunari smile, but surely his eyes were deceiving him.

"Leliana, I have two gifts for you, because I really appreciated your cooking this week. Here!"

"Oooh, what lovely shoes! And a pendant! Thank you Tara!"

"What about me?" Alistair asked eagerly as Leliana walked away.

"First, I have a favour to ask of you, sweetie. I know Wynne's already in her tent, and she's tired and I don't want to bother her, but I have a gift for her too. Could you bring this bottle of wine to her? I know she can't resist you!"

"Of course," he said, sounding more serious.

"You're a dear. Look what I found for _you_!" she said, handing him a flat white stone with golden engravings.

"Thank you!" he said, jumping on his feet and hurrying towards Wynne's tent.

"Well, that was an interesting display of maturity," Zevran said, his tone sarcastic.

"Aw, come on, sexy, everyone loves camper's Satinalia! Does that grouchy face mean that you don't want your gift?"

Zevran felt all of his own maturity melt away.

"You… you have a gift for me?" he asked meekly.

"I'm pretty sure I do, I mean, I pick up the oddest stuff… but if you're too old and mature for camper's Satinalia, I understand…"

"What… what is it?" He could have slapped himself. He had sounded like a stupid, eager six-year-old.

"All right," Tara conceded, smiling. "Close your eyes and extend your hands."

He did, feeling a bit stupid but also maddeningly curious. He felt something heavy fall in his hands.

"Open!"

He slowly opened his eyes. There in his hands was a pure, glinting, heavy and unbelievably _real_ gold bar.

He raised his eyes to look at her. She was smiling at him expectantly.

"Do you like it?"

"Like it?" he repeated, completely befuddled. Was she serious? "What do you want for it?"

Her smile vanished somewhat. "Nothing. It's a gift, Sexy."

"But none of the other gifts had that much value. Surely you want something in return from me."

She was frowning now. "I want nothing, Zev. It's not about value, I have no clue how much this is worth. It just reminded me of you. You know… of your eyes. It's… it's pretty and shiny. I thought you would appreciate it."

_Ah, so now things were becoming a bit clearer_. He smiled at her, a smug little smile, and leaned closer to her.

"Ah, so it is my eyes you fancy, yes? Why don't you come a little closer, my Grey Warden? You could look at them more closely, and I could show you my… gratitude."

She leaned in slowly, the smile returning to her lips. "Now that's an enticing… wait, what?" She backed away. "Are you saying you think I'm… ugh! Damn it, Zev, I'm not trying to _buy your services_!" She pushed him away and crossed her arms over her chest. "It's a freakin' gift! I give it to you because it pleases me to, and you say '_thank you_' and that's all!"

He looked down at the gold bar in his hands. The craziest thing was that he was beginning to believe her; that he could just say thank you and walk away and all that gold would be truly his… _no strings attached_?

"Thank you," he said softly. He doubted she would ever know how very sincere his gratefulness was.

"Bah!" she exclaimed, throwing her hands in the air. "You know what? You've taken the fun out of it. That was too hard. Too hard!"

"I'm sorry. I just…"

She looked at him struggling with words for a while, her expression softening, before letting out a long, heavy sigh.

"Don't worry, Sexy." She patted him on the cheek. "I'll do better next time. I'm going to find a way to give you my gifts that you won't be able to resist. You'll see. I like a good challenge."

She grabbed her backpack and walked away to her tent, leaving him standing numbly by the fire, the gold bar clutched in his hand.

All his.

* * *

"Is this seat taken?"

Zevran looked up, startled. How did he not hear her coming? Had he been so lost in thoughts, staring at that gold bar? Not that he minded the interruption. His whole train of thought had just led him to a point where he was about to admit to himself that he was having so much trouble accepting her gift because he felt undeserving. That thought didn't sit well with him at all. He pocketed the bar, pushing the unwanted thoughts away.

She was smiling down at him, a plate of food in each hand, a book stuffed under one arm.

"You should eat," she said, handing him one of the plates. "It's not good, but it's hot. A vigorous man like you needs his strength, after all."

"Ah, yes, one never knows when the necessity to be… vigorous might arise," he said, flashing her one of his infamous charming smile and taking the plate. She sat by him, her plate in precarious balance on one knee, her open book on the other, and started reading, absent-mindedly shoving spoonfuls of food into her mouth.

He took his own spoon in hand, tasted the content of his plate and instantly regretted it.

"I know, it's awful," she said, seeing the look on his face. "What can I say? There were no cooking classes in the Tower. I'm getting better, though! The first time I cooked, it was absolutely impossible to remove the food from the cooking pot. Like, it turned to rocks… big sticky rocks, glued to the bottom. We had to throw out the pot. At least now it's edible! What you need is a distraction. See?" She showed him her book.

"Yes, but what is going to distract me while you sit here reading?"

She thought about it, not quite concealing a coy little smile, her hand idly playing with the neckline of her robes.

"I could lose a button or two, if you want…"

"Ah, my beautiful Warden, you are a lady after my own heart," he said, a hand pressed to his chest. "How about you lose the book and we simply talk instead, hmm? Distract each other from this… ahem… acquired taste."

"Well aren't you a sweet, cute, little non-deadly assassin," she said, closing her book and letting it fall to the ground. "What do you want to talk about?"

"Well, how about you explain to me how this strange group of people came together?" he asked. "None of them seems to like the others much."

"Well, I guess they're all here because of me, more or less. Alistair was there with me at Ostagar, we're probably the two last Wardens in Ferelden right now, so we stick together. We found Morrigan in the Wilds. Well… she found us. She looks tough as nails, but every time she scoffs at us and gets all superior, I remember she's here because her _mom _told her to. Leliana was a Chantry lay sister, but I found her in a tavern, which should have tipped me off right away that something was weird with her. She's here because the Maker told her to, which was probably another clue. I found Sten in a cage and freed him, so basically he's here because he owes me. He also wants to know what the Blight is. I tried to explain it to him, but apparently I'm something called a 'Saarebas' and that means I'm not an expert or something. Between you and me, I think he's hiding here a little. I don't think Sten's a good Qunari. For one, he likes paintings… and kittens, and cookies! I just don't think that's right. Wynne… I think Wynne was just happy to get out of the Tower, and she missed bossing her favourite student around."

"You? Wynne was your teacher?"

"Yes, actually, healing classes. Ah, good times…" The smile on her lips faded slowly, and for no more than a second Zevran thought he saw something flash in her eyes, something dark and deep and a little desperate. It was gone in a blink and anyone less observant would have missed it. But Zevran was nothing if not a keen observer.

She turned to him, smiling again.

"Hey, what do you know, you're done!" she exclaimed, pointing at his empty plate. "Oh, and so am I… but I'm still hungry!"

"I heard that!" Alistair shouted from his place by the fire, quickly filling another plate and bringing it to her. "Here you go."

"Thank you sweetie," she said with a smile, handing Alistair her empty plate. He took it and left, but not without shooting Zevran a warning glance. The assassin resisted the urge to chuckle.

"How about you, Sexy? Wanna tell me about your adventures? I've got this whole plate to go through…"

He told her about some of his contracts, and as she listened attentively he found himself looking intently at her face, waiting to see if the mask would slip again, if he could catch another glance at the true person beneath, but it was to no avail. Zevran knew what he had seen, however. He was too intimately familiar with the process of playing a role not to recognize it in others. Only when she bid him good night, looking at him with an unusually grave expression, did he wonder if maybe, while he was trying to figure her out, he didn't reveal more about himself that he intended to with his stories.

He had almost told her about… about _her_. What was going on with him?


	3. In dreams

_Who walks among the famous living dead  
__Drowns all the boys and girls inside your bed  
__And if you could talk to me, tell me if it's so  
__That all the good girls go to Heaven?_

_~ My Chemical Romance, This is how I disappear_

**_~o0o~_**

The dreams came to him in many forms. Some nights, she was on her knees before him, sobbing and begging for her life before he cut her to pieces. Some nights, she was angry, screaming at him, fighting him blow for blow, until his blade sank into her heart. Sometimes Taliesin was there, holding her down, trying to gag her as she proclaimed her innocence. Even when Taliesin made an appearance, in his dreams, _he_ was always the one to kill her.

But those were not the worst nights.

The worst nights were when the dreams were not so violent; when he dreamed of the times they had before, of what was and what could have been. When the dreams were full of easy banter and careless laughter, of soft hands and warm skin, of long, lazy lovemaking, basking in the warmth of the Antivan sun.

The worst nights were nights like tonight.

_She laughs as he chases her across the house, her laughter echoing through the empty rooms. He runs after her, after the sound of her laugh, until he has her cornered in a sunlit bedroom and she slowly backs up towards the bed, smiling, her hands raised in surrender. She falls back on the bed, lying naked in a patch of sunlight, bronze skin striking against white sheets, and he follows, crawling over her, skin sliding against skin. She laughs again as her hands come up to caress his chest. She's all white teeth and dark skin, black hair over the white sheet, her fingers on him driving him mad with desire. Her legs wrap around his hips as he straightens up, kneeling on the bed between her thighs. Her back arches as he grabs her hips and easily slides inside her. She gasps, raises her arms towards him, begging. "I need you, Zevran, please…"_

_A flash of light, then she's down on her knees on the cold hard ground, in a dark, dirty room, her arms raised towards him in supplication, and she's crying. "Zevran, please, I need you to believe me…" _

_Then she's laughing, her head thrown back, silky black hair spilling across the white pillow, and she wraps her arms around his shoulders. "Harder," she breathes against his ear, and he thrusts harder inside her. She's so warm and soft under his hands, moaning softly through her laughter, biting at his earlobe. She whispers, "Harder, please, Zev, so good, please, hurt me…"_

_A flash, again. She sobs, her face half-hidden in darkness, her eyes boring into his, pleading. "Please, Zev, please don't hurt me…"_

_She's begging for him, her eyes shining in the sunlight pouring in from the windows, her fingernails scratching at his back. Their movements become frantic, his pleasure building as he thrusts harder and faster. Her breathing is ragged, she moans as she bucks and trashes under him, her hands grasping the sheets._

"_Zevran, please… I love you…"_

_He reaches down and slashes her throat with the blade in his hand. She stares up at him, mouth open on a silent cry, white teeth, bronze skin and dark hair against soaked, blood red sheets…_

He woke with a start, panting, and threw the blanket aside, clenching his teeth as bile rose up in his throat. After a few deep, calming breaths to fight through the nausea he sat up, rubbing his hands over his face.

They always threw him, these physical reactions, these concrete manifestations of his feelings of guilt, of want, of need. His body should not betray him so. It had been trained not to. That he had slowly been losing the control of his mind was enough.

It was no use trying to go back to sleep, he knew. He stretched carefully in the small enclosed space of the tent and then strapped his armour back on mechanically. Whoever was on watch, he could use the company. He took a minute to compose himself, then exited the tent.

It was still dark outside, so morning was still some time away. Tara was sitting by the fire, wrapped in a blanket, her eyes following his movements with no small amount of amusement.

"Oh, it's just you, Sexy," she said, laughter in her hushed voice. "For a minute there, I thought it was a dangerous assassin sent to kill me in my sleep!"

"Ow! Your words, my Warden, they wound me." He sat by her and she quickly shifted closer. The night was quite chilly. "I assure you, if I ever intend to kill you again, you would not see me coming."

"Oh, you mean this time you wouldn't drop a freakin' tree on me? 'Cause _that _wasn't subtle."

"And totally ineffective, I might add, although it was mostly meant to bar the way, which it did... But do not worry yourself so. I swore an oath to you and I intend to keep it. Besides, you are more of use to me alive, now, yes? You protect me, I protect you. It is a mutually beneficial partnership."

"Right. Also, I like you. Just saying. It's not so down-to-business, but there it is." She smiled at him, bumping her shoulder to his lightly. "Having trouble sleeping, Sexy? Something bothering you?"

"Ah, it is these dreams, you see. I keep dreaming of creatures of all genres and forms trying to insert various large, hard things in specific body parts. It is quite distressing."

"Hm. The naughty kind or the deadly kind?"

"Ah, but what difference does it make, hm? I find myself awake all the same."

She chuckled, shaking her head softly.

"Yeah, I know what you mean. Dreams can be…" Her smile faded as she stared into the fire, "… they can be pretty bad." Zevran waited to see if she would elaborate, but seconds passed in silence.

When she spoke again, apparently changing the subject, she didn't look at him, keeping her gaze on the fire, "You said you were from Antiva. Would you tell me about it?"

She asked this in such a small voice, wrapped up in her grey blanket, her eyes wide, the pale blue of her irises darker than in the light of day, her hair shining bright red in the firelight, and it hit him how young she was, how… inexperienced in the ways of the world. She'd never been to Antiva. She'd never been… anywhere, probably.

"Oh, you wish to know about Antiva, do you? The only way to truly appreciate it would be to go there. It is a warm place, not cold and harsh like this Ferelden. In Antiva, it rains often, but the flowers are always in bloom… or so the saying goes."

"And it has assassins."

Ah, so she was curious about the Crows after all. Talking to her alone in the stillness of the night and the strange intimacy created by the firelight was not the same experience as talking to her in the light of day, in front of everyone else. It was like talking to a completely different person, in fact: a much less assured, much more sincere person.

"Every land has its assassins. Some are simply more open about their business than others."

He was expecting her to be shocked, to deny it. Instead she just nodded, looking even slightly… unimpressed. Well he couldn't have that, now, could he?

"I hail from the glorious Antiva City, home to the royal palace. It is a glittering gem amidst the sand, my Antiva City. Do you come from someplace comparable?"

"I'm probably not from any glittering gem, no."

"No? That is too bad. If you were, then surely you would spend as much time boasting about it as I do!"

"I have no clue where I'm from, Sexy. Thanks for pointing that out so thoroughly, though."

He heard no bitterness in her tone. She sounded… amused, of all things… at peace with the ugliness of her past life? He knew the feeling well. His own less-than-stellar upbringing did not diminish his love for his homeland. When one found himself surrounded by ugliness, one learned to appreciate what he had. Maybe she'd like to hear about…

"Hmm. You know what is most odd? We speak of my homeland, and for all its wine and its dark-haired beauties and the lillo flutes of the minstrels… I miss the leather the most."

He could see her eyes sparkle in the firelight as she repressed a giggle.

"Is that some kind of euphemism?"

He laughed – a surprisingly loud, sincere, uncalculated sound.

"It may as well be! But not this once, no. I mean the _smell_. For years, I lived in a tiny apartment near Antiva City's leather-making district, in a building where the Crows stored their youngest recruits, packed in like crates. I grew accustomed to the stench, even though the humans complained of it constantly. To this day, the smell of fresh leather is what reminds me most of home, more than anything else."

"You sound like you've been away from home forever."

'_So do you_,' he thought.

"Oh, not so long, I know. It is my first time away from Antiva however, and the thought of never returning makes me think of it constantly."

"Ha! I actually know what that feels like, if you can believe it."

Ah, there it was, the bitter sadness. That seemed like a slippery slope he was engaging on. It would be safer to come back to Antivan leather, surely.

"Before I left, I was tempted to spend what little coin I possessed on leather boots I spotted in a store window. Finest Antivan leather, perfect craftsmanship... Ah, but I was a fool to leave them. I thought, 'Ah, Zevran, you can buy them when you return as a reward for a job well done!' More the fool I, no?"

"The job being killing me, right?" she laughed.

"Yes," he sighed, "and now here I am."

"Oh, you sound exasperated with me, Sexy. Are you tired of me rubbing your failure in your face with my continued existence?" She ran a hand through her hair to push back the locks hanging before her eyes, her expression more serious. "Your home is still there, Zevran. One day, maybe you'll be able to go back."

"I know," he sighed. "That is a comforting thought."

"Of course," she said with an uncharacteristic harshness in her voice as she poked at the fire a bit too violently, "maybe when you finally get to go back, it's possible that your home will be overrun by monsters wearing your old friends' faces and you're going to have to kill them all to survive."

"As a matter of fact, my dear Warden," he said, unable to keep his own tone as light as he would have wanted, "it is highly probable."

They sat in silence for a while, then Zevran shook himself slightly.

"One simply never knows what is to come next. How could I have suspected I would end up defeated by a beautiful Grey Warden, a woman who then spares my life? I could not."

The compliment had the desired effect: she smiled.

"Beautiful, is it?"

"I say you are beautiful because it is true! Should I not?"

"No, by all means!" She was laughing.

"And glad I am to hear it." He smiled seductively.

"I mean, of course you'd say that! Just look at me!"

"Oh, believe me, I am. Luridly."

She chuckled softly, shaking her hair.

"You're really one of a kind, Sexy. Maybe… I guess you need to make the most of where you are."

"Quite right you are. I see the Grey Wardens do not recruit fools."

"I don't know about that," she breathed, her smile vanishing slowly.

Suddenly she didn't seem so young. It made for a striking contrast, he decided, the way the light of the fire kept shifting on her face, revealing two different visages. She was young, younger than him, probably, and was lacking in several of the most basics of human experiences, but then she was so old, with a terrible burden upon her shoulders, bitter lines around her mouth. She had witnessed things too horrible to speak of, had experiences a vast majority of people would never have to face in their entire lifetime. Then she was shaking her head, smiling, and she was young again.

'_She would have loved Antiva,_' he suddenly thought. He could imagine her there, her skin tanned, her hair burning like fire under the sun. He imagined her in the market, curious about all the new foods the merchants had to offer, or sitting on a terrace, listening to the minstrels, or even in his tiny Crow apartment, sipping coffee, complaining about the smell… the thought filled him with an inexplicable sadness.

"Now, if it is all the same to you, I would prefer not to speak more of Antiva. It makes me wistful and hungry for a proper meal."

"Ouch! Was that a jab at my cooking skills? Hitting me where it hurts, Sexy!" She chuckled, putting a hand on his shoulder. "Maybe you should go and get some sleep, then. Don't worry, I'm staying right here. I'll keep the large-and-hard-object wielders at bay. All kinds, sadly."

"Ah, well, sometimes the good comes with the bad, no? I bid you good night, my Warden."

"Good night, Zev."

It wasn't before he was lying on his back in his tent again that he remembered why he had left it in the first place. It hit him like a punch to the stomach that, for a few precious minutes, he had _forgotten_. The cold, black hand that was constantly around his heart had released his grip, ever so slightly. She did this to him. He had let that happen. She had even made him laugh. He had felt like his old self for a small moment, and that was simply _not allowed_. Inexcusable!

But… beneath the guilt, if he was honest, he was feeling… relief. Just before he finally fell asleep for the second time that night, he decided that he would chase that feeling again. He would be able to return to his old ways, to be his old self.

And then everything would be fine.


	4. Party banter

_Author's notes: Hey guys! Thanks for the awesome feedback, and thank you to those of you that put the story in their favs and alerts!_

_In my eagerness to post the last chapter, I forgot to thank Guest for the wonderful review! I hope you're still reading and enjoying the story!_

_Many, many thanks to my beta, Epiphany Sola Gratia!_

_Here's a short, silly one. Enjoy!_

* * *

**Party banter**

* * *

Zevran: Warden?  
Tara: Yeah, Sexy?  
Zevran: You look stressed. Is there anything I could do to offer you some… relief?  
Tara: Ugh.  
Zevran: … I'm sorry, '_ugh_'?  
Tara: Damn right, ugh! I expected so much more from you, Sexy. I should have known when you threw me that 'sex goddess' line that it would all be downhill from there. That was pretty hard to top. You set the bar that high, and then you give me 'stress relief'? Hence, 'ugh'!  
Zevran: I am sorry. You are right. I will strive to do better.  
Tara: I certainly hope so.

* * *

Zevran: You are very hard to impress, my Warden.  
Tara: I'm so not. You're not trying hard enough, is all. All it takes is nice, colourful imagery. You could ask me if you could… water my tulip? Tuck my blanket? Borrow my sheath?  
Zevran: Sheet?  
Tara: Sheath.  
Zevran: I see. Do you have many of these crude but effective metaphors, then?  
Tara: Oh yeah! In the Tower, we had a whole code for it. You know, so that the teachers and Templars wouldn't know what we were talking about.  
Wynne: Oh, please…  
Tara: What? Wynne, were you listening?  
Wynne: Oh, the arrogance of youth. You think you're all so clever? We all knew the code, of course. It was so blatantly transparent.  
Tara: I feel both very proud of you and strangely mortified.

* * *

Tara: So, Alistair, I heard something…  
Alistair: What? Why are you looking at me like that?  
Tara: I heard that Zevran finally gave you a tattoo!  
Alistair: Oh, that? Well, yes.  
Tara: I heard it was in some… unmentionable place.  
Alistair: What? Did he say that? No! It was on my back. My back! My _lower_ back! Very mentionable. See how I keep mentioning it?  
Tara: Oh. Still, you had to take off your shirt, right?  
Zevran: And what a marvellous sight it was. These broad shoulders, these muscular arms, the tantalizing place where his taut stomach starts to widen at the hips, his trousers resting just below his hipbones…  
Tara: Oooooh…  
Alistair: How… (whispers) how is _that_ not talking about it again _ever_?  
Zevran: I lied, of course. I was never going to keep that delicious bit to myself.

* * *

Tara: So Wynne… about the… _code_… you all knew them? Like if a guy said he wanted to… dip his quill in your ink?  
Wynne: (Sighs) Yes…  
Tara: Plow your garden?  
Wynne: Truly you do not see how very unsubtle these all are?  
Tara: Cure your headache with his magical staff?  
Wynne: I… oh. Oh dear…  
Tara: What? You never heard that one?  
Wynne: I did. One of my students said that, once… to _me_.  
Zevran: Ah, Wynne, I am not the only one swayed by your magical bosom, I see!  
Tara: What did you tell him?  
Wynne: I… thought he was genuine. I told him that I would make him do it to me in front of the group and…  
Tara and Zevran: …and?  
Wynne: …oh dear… and that I would grade him on it.  
Tara: Oh no, you didn't!  
Wynne: He didn't show up to his lessons for a whole week, after. I thought I had called his bluff.  
Zevran: Well, his loss, I say.

* * *

Tara: So, Sweetie… about that tattoo…  
Alistair: What now?  
Tara: I heard there was some oil involved?  
Alistair: Ah, yes, he… huh… rubbed some oil on the tattooed spot.  
Zevran: My hands were slippery with oil on his hot, toned body, his tanned skin glistening in the firelight as I rubbed and massaged and stroked his back…  
Tara: Ooooooh…  
Alistair: (Groans)  
Zevran: I was shirtless, as well.  
Tara: Ooooh!  
Alistair: Are we done now?  
Tara: Wait! I wanna see! What did you get?  
Alistair: The symbol of the Grey Wardens.  
Zevran: Not so. It was a bosomy half-naked elven maid.  
Alistair: _What_?  
Zevran: Never trust an assassin, Alistair.  
Tara: Oh, Sexy, that's cruel. Show it to me, Sweetie, I'll tell you what it is.  
Alistair: There! It's there! Can you see? What is it?  
Tara: It's… hard to say in this light. Your shirt is making too much shadow. I think… yeah. You're gonna have to lose the shirt.  
Zevran: Hmm. I'll get the oil.  
Alistair: I hate you both.

* * *

Tara: Hey, Honey, can you do anything with this?  
Leliana: You mean your hair? Oh, but why? You know I think it's lovely.  
Tara: It's a lovely bale of hay is what it is. It's always in my face. Not seeing where I cast is not recommended, I assure you! Can you do something about this? I mean, I don't want birds in it or anything, just get it out of my face. You know… stylishly.  
Leliana: Hmm, let's see… oh, how about Orlesian braids? I could do two of them, one on each side, have them go around your head, like a crown! Then you could put flowers in them or something… I wish I had some ribbons…  
Tara: Orlesian braids?  
Leliana: Yes, they are very stylish, and they hold pretty well… although it would be better if I could braid your hair while it is wet. Maybe after supper we could get down to the stream and bathe together? I could do your braids afterwards.  
Tara: That's a good idea! You think my hair's long enough?  
Leliana: Come closer, let me see… oh, Tara, your hair is so soft! It's like running my fingers through silk!  
Tara: Hmm, and your hands are so gentle, Honey… that feels wonderful… oh, yeah, right there…  
Leliana: Maybe we should go bathe right now, yes? We could wash each other's backs… I could lather your hair and… rub a soapy washcloth all over your naked body… Tara, you have such soft skin…  
Tara: Hmm, yes, I always enjoy our baths together… and maybe I could do something for you too, Honey… you know, to thank you? I know it must have been a long time for you, right? I am told I have a very… talented tongue.  
Leliana: Oh, yes, all these years in the cloister, alone with myself, deprived of the soft touch of a lover… it has been so very harrowing.  
Tara: Is Zevran blue in the face yet?  
Leliana: Well, something's blue, I bet.  
Zevran: How long did you know I was listening?  
Tara: The whole time, Sexy! This entire show was for your benefit!  
Leliana: Let it never be said we never do anything for you.  
Zevran: Yes, I feel very grateful. Now, about those braids…  
Tara: Not gonna happen, Sexy.  
Zevran: _Brasca_!

* * *

Tara: I heard you.  
Zevran: I'm sorry?  
Tara: I heard you asking Wynne about… certain practises? In the Tower?  
Zevran: Ah yes, the part where mages make love to each other under the stars at the full moon?  
Tara: You are a fool, Sexy.  
Zevran: For believing such things? But what is a man without a dream, my Warden?  
Tara: No, you silly man. You're a fool for thinking we'd invite Wynne!  
Zevran: …  
Tara: … and he's speechless! That's one for me!  
Zevran: But… wait! So it's true?

* * *

Zevran: Wynne?  
Wynne: What is it, Zevran?  
Zevran: You look tired, my dear.  
Wynne: It's nothing. Just a headache.  
Zevran: A headache, hmm?  
Wynne: Oh no…  
Zevran: Can I heal it…  
Wynne: Don't say it!  
Zevran: … with my magical staff?  
Wynne: Zevran…  
Zevran: I could do it in front of the whole group, you know…  
Wynne: I have no doubt.  
Zevran: I would even let you grade me on it.  
Wynne: Please stop.  
Tara: Yes, please stop!


	5. Unfolding

_Author's notes: Hi everyone! It's been so long since my last update and I'm so sorry. I just want everyone to know that there is absolutely no way at all I'm abandoning this story. I have so many ideas for these two! I just don't have as much free time as I would like, and so it may take me a bit more time to post updates, but I promise they will keep coming until the story is complete. This story is too important to me. I so wish I had more time to write..._

_I want to thank everyone that has put this story in their favorites or alerts, and a very special thanks to my reviewers! I'm glad you liked that last chapter!_

_Finally, many thanks to my beta, Epiphany sola Gratia!_

* * *

_I am covered in skin  
__No one gets to come in  
__Pull me out from inside  
__I am folded, and unfolded, and unfolding (…)  
__I am ready, I am ready, I am ready  
__I am fine  
__I am fine  
__I am fine_

_Counting Crows, __Colorblind_

**_~o0o~_**

These nights talking by the fire were becoming a frequent occurrence. Either he couldn't sleep and woke to find her already there, or she'd join him shortly afterwards, sending the person on guard duty to their tent. He thought at first she was making excuses to spend time with him, but it soon became pretty obvious that they were both suffering from chronic restlessness. He was ready to bet a lovely sum that her inability to sleep soundly was due to the same reason as his: nightmares. She never talked about it and he didn't ask. She had been very respectful of his desire for privacy and he extended the same courtesy to her. He could try to guess, though.

One night, she had asked him if he enjoyed being an assassin. After explaining to her that he liked it just fine and seeing the carefully concealed disgust in her eyes, he had asked her if she didn't believe some people deserved to die. She had shaken her head, looking like she was about to say she didn't, but no sound came out of her open mouth. When she had finally spoken, after a long time of consideration, her answer had not been what he had expected.

"You're right," she had said. "Some people deserve to die, so much. Some people deserve to suffer long, and hard, and then die a painful, gruesome death."

'_And some don't,_' Zevran had thought, '_and those are the ones that stay with you_.' He hadn't told her that, though.

Another night, she had talked about Ostagar. That would have given nightmares to anyone.

He wondered at times why he was trying so much. It was an old habit of his, of course, to press people for information, to acquire as much knowledge on his targets as possible… a precaution he had cautiously avoided to take for this particular mission. Beyond that, though, he found himself strangely curious about her, anxious to see her true self. The desire he felt for her body was to be expected; the flirty banter, the lingering glance, the occasional brush of skin against skin… this was familiar, safe. This desire to know her mind… that was new, unsettling. Each night he was left wanting more, and not just in a sexual manner. Although… she had a sly, open way of flirting that often put very vivid images in his head.

When asked about his past conquests, he had been honest in revealing to her that he had been with men as well as women, wondering if that bothered her. Her eyebrows had shot up in surprise.

"You think that bothers _me_?"

She had laughed, then, not the quiet chuckle or the not-quite-mocking snigger he was used to, but a loud, sincere burst of laughter.

"Oh, Maker, Sexy, if you only knew…" She'd winked at him, still laughing, "I guess we all have a past, don't we?"

Since then, he frequently had mental images of what exactly that past entailed for her.

This attraction, however, this sexual tension, he could deal with it, since things were so evidently moving towards their inevitable, satisfying conclusion. Their talks, though… that was hard work. There lay the real mystery. They were the reason he left the semi-warmth of his bedroll every night and went looking for her.

That night, he found her already by the fire. She smiled at him tiredly, but her eyes were red and her eyelashes wet. He made a show not to notice as he sat by her, their shoulders touching.

"Awake, my Warden? Is your bedroll too cold to sleep in? I have just the thing for that particular problem, you know. I am quite the skilled bed-warmer."

She chuckled. He looked straight at the fire while she discreetly wiped her eyes and cheeks. Such was their way.

"Hey, Sexy. I was wondering… why did you want to leave the Crows, exactly?"

Ah, so either she was trying to find another topic of discussion to evade questioning, or her tears had to do with leaving. He had found out the best way to obtain information (the serious kind of information, at least) from her was to give some about himself, and watch her unfold. It was a tricky game where the goal was to reveal as little as possible about himself while learning as much as possible about her. He wondered if she was playing the same game when they talked.

"Well, now, I imagine that's a very fair question. Being an assassin, after all, is a living, at least as far as such things go. I was simply never given the opportunity to choose another way. So if that choice presents itself, why should I not seize upon it?"

There. Not the whole truth, but not a lie, either.

"You didn't choose to join the Crows?"

"Mm? To be truthful, I didn't even know the Crows existed when I joined them. I was but a boy of seven when I was purchased, for three sovereigns, I'm told. Which is a good price, considering I was all ribs and bone and didn't know the pommel of a dagger from the pointy end."

"Ah, how things have changed…" she said, winking at him.

"The Crows buy all their assassins that way. Buy them young, raise them to know nothing else but murder. And if you do poorly in your training, you die."

"That's awful."

Oh, yes. Pity. He wasn't having any of that.

"Oh, I don't know about that…"

"Oh, no, Sexy, it is. Awful. And also frighteningly familiar."

That stumped him.

"Familiar?"

"Well, I wasn't seven. I was… five, actually, and they didn't buy me, they just… took me away. I wasn't worth anything, myself, you see. I didn't have a choice, either, believe me. They locked me up, raised me, taught me magic. Then there's this test called the Harrowing, and if you do poorly… well you don't die but seriously, they might as well just kill you."

"Oh? I take it you passed that little test, yes? Clever minx that you are."

She glared at him, fighting to hide a smile.

"Please. Don't insult me. I am magnificent. Of course I passed their little test. Faster than anyone else before me, I might add."

He smiled at her.

"I expected nothing else. Did it get better then? The Crows who are actually good enough to survive come to enjoy some of the benefits."

"Well… I didn't have to share a room with twenty or so teenagers anymore… I moved up one floor and had a nifty semi-private room, with no door but a big, comfy-looking bed, although I… never actually got to sleep in it…"

"Ah. In Antiva, being a Crow gets you respect. It gets you wealth. It gets you women, and men, or whatever it is you might fancy."

"Well, your training sounds a lot more arduous and terrible, but your perks kick mine in the butt."

"Ah, yes, the lifestyle can be quite charming. But that does mean doing what is expected of you, always. And it means being expendable. It's a cage, if a gilded cage. Pretty, but confining."

"A pretty but confining gilded cage. Couldn't have put it better myself. Say," she turned a little to face him, leaning closer, a seductive smile on her lips, "what did being a Crow get _you_, Sexy? What is it you fancy, exactly?"

He returned her smile, his hand coming up to slowly brush strands of hair from her brow, then gently pinch her chin between his thumb and forefinger, tilting her face up towards his.

"I fancy many things. I fancy things that are beautiful and things that are strong. I fancy things that are dangerous and exciting. Would you be offended if I said I fancied you?"

She licked her lips slowly, "I'd be offended if you didn't."

He chuckled softly, letting go of her chin, "This is good to know."

She pulled back a little and turned to the fire again. There was a hesitation in the movement that told him she had expected something else to happen. That was good, very good. At least he hadn't lost _that_ edge.

"It's the strangest thing," she said then, "but I find myself thinking about that bed often. The day I passed my Harrowing, well… things happened. That was the day I left the Tower to become a Warden, actually. One minute I'm visiting my new quarters, trying hard to not jump on my new comfy bed in front of the senior mage, the next… bye bye Tower. I thought… I would have given anything to get out of that Tower and now… sometimes I just miss it so much. And being a Warden, well it's… not as _glamorous_ as one might expect."

Her voice faltered a little, hinting at the fact that there was probably more to being a Warden than rustic camping and questionable company. He didn't press the issue.

"Hm. As for what I'll do in the future," he continued instead, going back to their previous topic, "presuming that there is one, I truly can't imagine. It might be interesting to go into business for myself, for a change… _far_ away from Antiva, of course. For now, naturally, I go where you go."

"You think that will change?"

"Everything changes, my friend."

He had meant for it to be teasing, light, the way she had asked the question. Instead, the words came out wistful and sad. _Everything changes._ Their little game was already changing. The flirtation would change. She could tire of him, release him from his oath, tell him to leave. He could try to kill her again, go back to the Crows a different man.

_Everything changes._

"I'm happy to have you along."

Her tone was different, too: more serious, more intense. It was his turn to be light, it seemed.

"And here I am, happy to be had. Isn't it wonderful how things work out that way? Come now, enough chit-chat. Talking about the Crows summons them, you know. Any Antivan fishwife could tell you so."

The talk about the Crows wasn't the one bothering him, truth be told. If he had to leave, where would he go? He couldn't go back to Antiva and didn't know anyone anywhere else. Being by himself might be safer, he could hide more easily, but that also meant being by himself to kill the Crows that would eventually catch up to him.

_If she tells me to leave, where would I go? Who could I trust? Where could I be safe?_

Nowhere, he knew. No one. He'd taken a chance on her when he joined her, and the odds hadn't been good, but he already knew back then that it was all he had. That his famous luck had yet again kicked in, that it was her, of all people, that took him in, that she was the person she was… well. One would do best not to reflect on his own luck too much.

_Everything changes._

He glanced at her, finding her in her own state of deep reflexion, staring back at him. The look on her face told him that her own train of thoughts must have been quite different, though.

Then she… _pounced_. He had no other words to describe it. One moment she was sitting silently by him, the next she was in front of him, on his thighs, in his arms, her fingers finding their way into his braided hair, her lips finding his.

_That kiss…_

He prided himself on being a talented kisser, of course, but she gave as much as she received. She was passionate, fiery, her mouth moving on his in such a way that all his senses awakened to her touch. The warmth of her lips was spreading fast, as if she was breathing fire into him, down his throat, filling his chest, pressing further into him with every kiss, every teasing bite, every gasping breath. He was aware of every part of her touching him, radiating warmth, and his body was responding, ready and willing, _hard_, and it was all so… easy. Normal… like he was reconnecting with a part of himself he thought was lost, becoming again the man he once had been.

She broke the kiss, breathing heavily, and leaned her forehead against his, her eyes still closed, her hands still in his hair, gripping.

"Maker, I've missed this…"

He found his voice, barely.

"Oh? Have we kissed before, then? I'm fairly certain I would remember…"

She laughed, a breathless chuckle.

"I mean… you know. _This_."

Oh yes, he knew _this_. Contact. Closeness. Touch. Desire.

"Warmth," he suggested softly.

"Yes," she whispered, her lips seeking his again. "Exactly."

He stopped her, gently but firmly.

"The sun is almost up, _Cara_. People are going to wake up soon."

"I know," she sighed without moving away. "You should kiss me quick, then."

He didn't stop her a second time. As they kissed again, though, he knew he had to stop it somehow. It couldn't go on, couldn't go further, not this morning anyway, because it was too good and he wasn't about to let the moment be spoiled by someone's untimely arrival. This little affair of theirs was best kept secret for now.

He broke the kiss, regaining control.

"I've… a question, if I may?"

She chuckled against his lips, "Now? You have a question now?"

"Well, my lovely Warden, since this is clearly not going any further right now, I must admit I find myself in need of a… distraction, before I embarrass myself."

She laughed softly, pulling back a little to look at him, her hands still tangled in his hair.

"Go ahead."

"Well, here's the thing: I swore an oath to serve you, yes? And I understand the quest you're on, and this is all very fine and well. My question pertains to what you intend to do with me once this business is over with. As a point of curiosity."

She was relentless, peppering small kisses around his mouth the whole time he spoke.

"Is this after I ravish you in celebration?" she whispered, her lips pausing at the corner of his mouth.

It surprised him, how tempted he was to let himself be distracted, to dive again into her warmth. He had a goal, however, and a hard-earned control on his own body that allowed him to laugh carelessly at her remark.

"Of course it is afterwards. The ravishing part is a given! One simply assumes that, once your Grey Warden business is finished, you would have no need of an assassin to follow you about. Am I wrong?"

That seemed to have the effect of a cold shower. She straightened up above him, letting go of his hair.

"Is that why… I'll not hold you to any oath. I won't be your gilded cage, Zevran. Leave whenever you like."

Ah. Freedom. Strange, how it didn't hold the same appeal it once did.

"Oh? I made the oath willingly, but if that's how you see it, then all the better. For the moment, it's still best I stay, considering my standing with the Crows."

"Oh. Right. The Crows. Yes. Hum, let me just… yeah." She got off him, standing up awkwardly, extending a hand to help him up. He caught it, pulled himself up and kept her hand in his when she tried to take it away. It seemed he needed to make himself a little clearer.

"But let's assume that I didn't desire to leave, when the time came. What then?"

She seemed genuinely surprised.

"Why wouldn't you go, if you had the chance?"

"It is… difficult to say." He pulled her closer, slid a hand into her red locks, "Is there no one that I might… stay for?"

The smile that lit her face was as happy and relieved as he had ever seen.

"I'd like that."

A safe place by her side, even after the end. That sounded… too good.

_Everything changes, my friend._

He leaned closer, smiling. Indulging one last time before dawn.

"So would I, I should think."


	6. Pain and pleasure

_Author's notes: Hello gentle readers! Thank you for sticking with the story, for all the favs, alerts, and wonderful, wonderful reviews! _

_In this chapter, Zev has a proposition for Tara. And yes, it's a very naughty one. We enter lemon territory now. Be warned._

_I split this part in two chapters. It allows me to update more quickly (even if it's still quite slow...) The second part is not quite ready yet, but it shouldn't be too long._

_A big, heartfelt thanks to my wonderful beta, Epiphany sola Gratia!_

* * *

_You gotta be strong to walk these streets and keep from falling  
__And when you're not, just let yourself cry  
__You've been working hard just trying to pay the rent  
__Trying to draw the line between who you are and who you invent  
__But if you throw a stone, something's gonna shatter somewhere  
__We're all so fragile, we're all so scared_

_Adam Cohen, __Cry Ophelia_

Tara was tired and it showed.

Her dealings with the Dalish and their… _problems_ were taking their toll. She was dozing off, valiantly trying not to fall asleep face first in her bowl of stew. She was clearly fighting a losing battle, and Zevran decided to intervene before things got… ugly and messy.

He was sworn to be her man, without reservation, after all, and it was pretty clear to him what she needed.

He sat by her, gently taking the bowl from her hands to set it aside and wrapped an arm around her waist, bringing her closer to him. Her head automatically nestled against the curve of his neck and she sighed in relief.

"Tsk… you look so tired, my dear…" he whispered against her hair, teasing.

"Mmm, yes, so tired, just stay right there, that's right… perfect, now, don't move…"

He felt her whole body sag against his in careless abandon and he had to smile. They were on the same page, apparently.

"It's all this constant walking and fighting… I think I know what you need, my lovely Grey Warden…"

"Mm, let's see… a whole night of sound sleep without being plagued by horrifying, soul-crushing nightmares?"

"What?"

"What?" she repeated, her eyes opening suddenly and her head straightening up. "Nothing! Huh-huh, not a thing, I didn't say anything. Those are supposed to be _secret_ nightmares," she whispered, then snorted. "Maker, I'm so tired! What did you say? What do I need? Hum… a horse? A manservant, to carry my many possessions?" Her fingers trailed up his chest in a light caress, "Are you offering, Sexy?"

Zevran laughed. "A little late for that, don't you think?"

"Not necessarily. You could carry my things tomorrow, if you insist… or carry _me_, maybe? Mmm, I know I wouldn't mind… _riding_ you…"

Yes, they were definitely on the same page, he thought amusedly.

"My thought is this: we retire to your tent and I show you the sort of massage skills that one only learns when growing up in an Antivan whorehouse."

"Now, that's quite the… _proposition_, Sexy, if we're in fact talking about the same thing," she said, her face inching closer to his, her fingers already toying with his hair. "Are you saying what I think you're saying?"

"If you mean to ask if there could be more than a massage involved, allow me to say that…" He leaned closer as well to whisper in her ear, catching the soft lobe between his teeth, pleased at the soft, muffled gasp that escaped her lips, "… you won't be disappointed with the many skills I've picked up over the years."

"You mean, _mean_ tease," she breathed, her fingers grabbing at his hair, their lips almost touching.

"Oh? Am I making you uncomfortable?" he murmured, and felt her inhale sharply when the movement of his lips made them brush against hers.

"Well…" She pulled away slightly, bowing her head to look at the ground, swallowed and licked her lips before continuing. "Maybe, although not in the way you think… I mean, it's one thing to flirt and kiss, but… what I mean to say is… what does this mean exactly? I'm trying to be the responsible leader here, you know. Are you really sure about this?"

That look on her face was… well, he didn't want to say _adorable_, but…

"What is there to fear, my Grey Warden? Surely you deserve a bit of fun, no?"

He brought his hand to her cheek and she leaned into it, sighing.

"Oh yes, I really do… Being a Warden is quite hard and I've been all work and no play for so long now, but I'm… I'm not really sure how these things work outside the Tower, I mean, in the real world, you know?"

He laughed. It was really something, the way she could always make him laugh so… sincerely.

"I'm pretty sure these things work the same way everywhere, _Cara_."

"All right, so… fun, then, right? Good, old-fashioned, no-strings-attached fun?"

"Right, but if you're not of a mind, however, it is no tragedy."

"Oh, I'm of a mind..."

"Then why are we still talking?" he asked, almost whispering, closing the distance between them to capture her mouth with his.

Her lips were soft, as warm as he remembered them. He closed his eyes, enjoying the simple, pleasant feeling, letting the kiss awaken sensations through his whole body. He felt her soft, subtle sigh against his mouth when she gently pulled away, and he knew she was as eager, as _thirsty_ as he was.

"Go to your tent," he whispered, gently brushing his lips against hers, not quite kissing. "I will join you shortly. I just need to get something first."

"Don't keep me waiting too long, Sexy," she said, smiling, before turning away, her hand lingering on his arm in a parting caress. In three quick steps, Zevran reached his own tent and rummaged in his pack for the vial of massage oil he knew should be there.

She was on her knees on the tent floor, already unfastening the many straps holding her mage's robes together, and threw him a coy, little smile when he entered her tent.

"Oh, so I get an actual massage, then?" she teased him. He licked his lips, looking her up and down appreciatively.

"Only if you wish it, my dear."

"Oh, believe me, I do."

"Here, let me help you with these…"

He got on his knees, his hands deftly pulling at the straps and buttons of her robe. Her hands were busy over his armour, unbuckling and unfastening rather aptly.

"You're awfully good at this, _Cara_."

"Yeah, this is still less complicated than Templar armour, you know?"

"What?"

"What?" she repeated, her expression falsely innocent, and he couldn't help but grin.

"You are a sly little thing, aren't you?" he murmured, leaning in to press his lips against the soft skin of her neck, his hands still busy undressing her.

"Mmm…"

Her hands were casting aside armour pieces, and Zevran realized, with no small amount of surprise, that he was already half-naked whereas _he_ hadn't managed to remove _any_ of her clothes yet. These very revealing mage robes were actually tricky to remove. The whole thing was very deceiving. Well, _this_ wouldn't do.

"Let me," he whispered, taking her hands in his and putting them by her sides. She knelt there, obligingly immobile, until he finally got the last clasp open and her robes fell around her, denuding her entirely. She raised her arms on each side, completely unashamed, putting herself on display for his hungry eyes.

She was beautiful, all soft curves with just a hint of defined muscles. He feasted his eyes on her as she did a little awkward spin on her knees, letting him admire her from all sides. Then her hands were on him again, and it was his turn to remain still as she finished divesting him of his last articles of armour and clothing. He gave her the same little show, knowing full well he had nothing to be ashamed of either. She smiled, her eyes gleaming hungrily, and shuffled closer.

He wrapped his arms around her waist, bringing her flush against him. Her skin felt warm against his, just a touch warmer than it should. Her arms wrapped around his neck, exposing her whole body to his wandering hands, and she kissed him. To feel her lips on his, the softness of her skin under his fingers, the way her body melted against his as her mouth moved to trail kisses across his cheek, making its way to his ear… it felt so good. He allowed himself to be lost in sensations again, to let his body fall into the slow, sensuous rhythm he knew well…

When her lips found his earlobe he couldn't help but gasp, her slow, suckling motion sending a sharp shiver of pleasure straight down his spine. Her lips moved around his lobe as she smiled and he pressed himself closer to her, letting her feel the immediate consequences her actions had caused. He caught her face between his hands, kissing her again, long and hard, before gently pushing their bodies apart.

"Lay down on your stomach," he instructed, reaching for the vial and pouring some oil in his hands, rubbing his palms together to warm it. She complied with a pout, getting comfortable on the wolf skins that covered the ground.

"I know a thing or two about massage myself, you know," she said as he was getting ready above her, straddling her thighs. "It was part of the perfect healer training I received back at the Tower. I had this massage partner that knew how to HOLY SWEET BRIDE OF THE FREAKING MAKER!"

Zevran removed his hands, startled. He had barely begun massaging her back.

"Is something wrong, my Warden?"

"Is that what an Antivan massage is? Is this some kind of evolved Crow torture? I yield, I yield! Holy crap, don't do that again!"

"I barely touched you. Surely you're overreacting."

"I'll kick you in the nuts right now, see if you overreact!" she spat, squirming under him.

He heard footsteps rapidly approaching. Well, so much for keeping their little liaison a secret.

"Is… everything all right in there?" asked Alistair's cautious voice from outside the tent.

"I think Zevran's trying to torture me to death!"

A stunned silence answered her. Zevran resisted the urge to let his face fall in his hands, mindful of the oil.

"_What?!_"

As he thought, Alistair was not amused.

"Not literally, Sweetie. Maker, do you still take me seriously all the time? Don't come in here! I wouldn't want to offend your chaste, virgin eyes!"

"_What!?_" Alistair was still very much not laughing. "What's going on in there?"

"Alistair," Leliana said in a soft, reasonable voice, "maybe this is something the two of them can sort out on their own, yes? Come with me, I believe we need some more wood for the fire."

The footsteps slowly faded away. Zevran flicked Tara on the shoulder.

"Are you trying to have me killed?" He asked this while trying hard to keep his voice low.

"I don't know!" she answered in the same kind of frantic whisper, "Did you just try to murder me by massage?"

"As I said, I barely touched you. It could not have hurt this bad."

"Well, it did. You must have done it wrong."

This was not going the way he had anticipated.

"Let me just check your back. I am going to touch you again. Try not to scream."

He trailed his hands up and down her back, applying a little more pressure. She hissed in pain and that time, he understood why. Under his fingers, he could feel her cramped muscles, hard as rock. It was a wonder she could still stand.

"You are unbelievably tense, _Cara_. Why did you not heal yourself?"

"It didn't hurt before you touched it," she whispered. "I mean, yeah, my first days on the road, everything hurt like a bitch and I had to heal myself every night, but after a couple of days, it didn't hurt so much. I thought I was getting fitter, you know, developing muscles?"

"It might not hurt as much as it did, but your muscles are still incredibly stiff. It will take its toll in the long run. Surely you find yourself somewhat impaired when doing certain movements?"

"No, I mean… I don't think so…" The hesitation in her tone told him everything he needed to know.

"I can help, but… it will hurt before it gets better."

He knew a little about therapeutic massages as well, although he didn't learn that particular skill in the brothels. They were much less agreeable, but very effective in getting the body back to an efficient state.

"This is not the way I imagined this was going to go," Tara mumbled.

"I can't say I am particularly thrilled with this development myself, but… you obviously need this." He reached to the side to get her pack, hoping… ah, yes, there: warmth balm. "I'll try to make this as pleasurable as I can."

"All right," she sighed. "I put myself in your hands. Your strong, capable, oiled hands… hmm… maybe this won't be so bad…"

It was, at first. To her credit, Tara managed to stay admirably quiet as he kneaded her flesh, searching for the main tense areas. He had to rely on subtle cues, small changes in her breathing, tiny movements of her arm, a sudden tenseness in her body, to know when the pain was becoming too much to bear. Her skin turned bright red almost instantly under his firm fingers, wherever he rubbed.

Then he felt the hardness finally giving way under his palms, his thumbs pressing in deeper with each stroke. She seemed to sag into the fur, slowly, tension leaving her whole body as the muscles softened. When he slid his hands down her back, applying a steady pressure, he could feel her trembling slightly, muscles that were used to being tense giving up in a flutter of spasms. There was a spot, right where her shoulder and her arm met, that he found himself focusing on for a long time, the tension there clearly significant. After a while, as her trembling intensified instead of subsiding, he realised that her whole frame was shaking, her shoulders jerking slightly, her breath coming in short gasps.

"_Cara_?" he asked cautiously. Was she…

"What… what's happening?" she whispered. Her hand came up to her face, her fingers ghosting over her cheeks. "I'm… am I crying? What are you doing to me?"

"You were carrying a lot of stress in your shoulders, _Cara_… this is simply…"

"If you say 'stress relief', I might just have to punch you."

He smiled, "Fair enough."

He kept at it, silently, rubbing her shoulders, her back, her arms, as she cried like a dam broke inside her. She somehow managed to do so quietly, her sobs muffled by the furs, the slight jerking movement of her shoulders and her ragged breath his only clues.

He knew she was carrying burdens; he just never knew how heavy they were, how much pain she put herself through daily to carry them. He rubbed slowly, methodically, until he felt only smooth, soft flesh under his thumbs, then he shifted down, bending her leg slowly to rest her foot on his shoulder, giving him better access to her calf. He gave her legs the same amount of attention he did her back, as her sobs morphed into grunts of pain before she fell silent once more.

Giving a massage had never felt so… empowering before, he thought as the rigid muscles of her thighs slowly relaxed under his ministrations. He could feel it under every fingertip as the hardness gave way to softness, hear it in each of her quiet sigh of relief, see it in the way her body kept shifting slightly under his hands, how much she needed this… how much she needed him.

Was that how she felt, he wondered, when she used her healing magic on him? Was that why her magic always felt so... deeply erotic?

He looked down at her, laying there on the furs, boneless, naked, her breathing now slow and deep as if she was on the verge of falling asleep... so _vulnerable_. This is when he would normally strike, he thought suddenly. She'd be dead before she even knew it. If he killed her now, there were only ten steps or so to Alistair's tent, the path covered with shadows. If he went back to the Crows after that, back to Taliesen, he knew he could convince them to take him back. There would be no more life on the run for him. Things could really go back to the way they were before.

_He didn't want it._

His hands stilled on her ankles. _He wanted to stay here_. He moved them slowly up her calves, her thighs, not applying any pressure this time, fingers barely touching skin; a long, soft caress. _Here, with her. Against her. Inside her_. She felt the change in intentions, stirred slightly as his hands reached her buttocks, teasingly following their roundness in a slow, circular caress.

His hands could deal pleasure as well as death.

Her back arched like a cat's when his hands moved upwards still, up her back, his whole body following the movement until he was laying on top of her, their legs tangled together, his mouth close to her ear.

"Your back is going to feel very sore tomorrow," he whispered in her ear, gently nipping at the lobe. He felt the shiver run through her whole body as she gasped.

"Mmm. It already does," she murmured, turning her head slightly, exposing the soft part of her neck to his questing lips. "Luckily, I have just the thing…"

The tent was suddenly bathed in the soft blue light of her rejuvenating spell. He felt the effect of her magic like an aftershock on his skin, everywhere at once, like pure energy, invigorating and so… arousing. She felt him growing harder against her buttocks and she squirmed, rubbing against him.

"Mmm…" she murmured, the sound coming from deep in her throat and setting fire to his senses.

She wiggled under him, trying to get on her back and rubbing more against him in the process, and it was embarrassing how good it felt. It had been too long since anyone had touched him, he thought. Not since… _no_. He stopped himself before his mind wandered down that dangerous path.

He growled softly against her ear and she chuckled, moving her ass in a circular motion against his groin until he relented, bracing himself on the ground on each side of her head, pushing away from her slightly, barely giving her any room to roll on her back before pressing all his body against hers once more. She raised her knees on each side and he fell between her legs, their hips already perfectly aligned. He gasped, overwhelmed by a wave of pure, intense lust. Her hands came up, fingers tangling in his hair, and she brought him down to her for a bruising, lust-fuelled kiss that made him see stars.

He needed this, needed her, and if the way she kissed him was any indication, her need was as scorching as his.

"I want you," he whispered, his voice hoarse to his own ears. "Now, _Cara_. Are you…"

"Sexy," she whispered, her voice sending a wave of heat straight down to his core, "I've been ready for so long it would be extremely cruel of you not to give it to me right… ah!"

He guided himself inside her before she even finished speaking, pushing in deep, one of his hands sliding under her to raise her hips slightly, helping her adjust to him. Then he moved, his hips rolling purposefully, pumping slowly in an out of her. It was all so natural, so easy, he thought, and only when relief hit him did he realise he had been… wary. Afraid of what sex could bring back for him.

Her hands clawed at his arms as her heels found purchase on the ground and she rolled her hips in rhythm with his thrusts, and he lost himself to the pleasure. He was keenly aware of each of her movement, the way her flesh slid against him, the way she kept clenching around him… there would be other times, he hoped, times where he could use his extensive knowledge against her, where he could take the time to explore her thoroughly, tease her and feel her climax in every way possible… but right now she felt too good and he was lost in his own need, his pleasure building up too quickly, testing his self-control.

_It's been so long…_

_Silence!_

His thrusts became shorter as he increased his pace, his hips moving more purposefully.

"I'm not…" he tried to warn her.

"Me neither," she gasped, "just… keep going… like that, just… yes… ah!"

Her back arched as her legs wrapped around him, pushing him deeper inside her and holding him there. He rolled his hips one more time, grinding against her, and felt her shatter under him, felt her orgasm deep to his core, her muscles contracting around him, sending him over the edge as well.

He felt… liberated, lost in mind-blowing pleasure, his hips still pumping shallowly as he rode out his orgasm, his whole body shaking with release. His arms gave out and he braced himself on his elbows, out of breath, lying atop her warm, soft body, feeling like another piece of his old self fell back into place, deep in his mind.

She sighed deeply under him and he opened his eyes in time to see her open hers, her gaze still clouded with pleasure.

"Wow… you weren't kidding, Sexy, I mean, that was… wow!"

"Thank you. It was my pleasure, I assure you."

"But… you need to get off, now."

He raised his eyebrows in amusement and she rolled her eyes, slapping his shoulder lightly.

"Haha, such a clever fox you are. Off _me_," she specified, laughter in her eyes. "Not that I don't enjoy having your lean, muscular, oh-so-sexy body pressed against me, but… you're crushing me."

He rolled off her and onto his back, and they lay side by side for a while, in silence, as their breathing slowly calmed down. She stirred after a while, turning on her side to face him.

"Really, though, thank you. I feel… unbelievable. You have no idea."

"Oh, I have _some_ idea, surely," he teased, pleased when she laughed. "And there is no need to thank me, _Cara_. I knew this would happen eventually. This was inevitable, from the moment we met. I should have warned you."

"Oh?" She batted her eyelashes, her mouth pursing with the cutest little pout and her hand tracing undefined patterns on his chest. "And here I thought I seduced you."

He laughed, his arm coming around her to bring her closer as if it was the most natural thing in the world.

"Well aren't you the saucy little minx, then? I've been used and I wasn't even aware of it! A masterpiece!"

She nestled against his side, her head lying on his shoulder, her fingers still caressing her chest. It felt like she was avoiding his gaze. Oh, so it was already time for _that_ conversation.

"So," he said, taking the plunge, "as the priestess so famously said to the handsome actor: what now?"

Her hand stilled for a second on his chest before continuing their idle movements.

"Was this a one-time thing?"

"Allow me to make it simple for you, my Grey Warden. What comes next is entirely up to you. I was raised to take my pleasures where they could be found, for they do not come very often. I shall ask nothing more of you than you are willing to give."

"What… what about love?"

"I was born of a whore and bred as an assassin. All I know is of pleasure and death. And you… you understand these things, no? What room is there in our lives for love?"

"You're… you're right. This is enough. I'm glad we agree on this. I don't think… I don't think I could be… _more_, right now."

She shifted a little, resting her chin on his chest to look at him. He saw sincerity in her eyes. They wanted exactly the same thing out of this… relationship: kindred spirits, the both of them.

She stretched over him, reaching for the forgotten bottle of oil by his side.

"Your turn," she said with a smile, dandling the bottle in front of his face.

"I assure you, my Warden, I feel very… stress-free, right now."

"Roll over, Zevran," she said, her voice a deep purr. "I'll show you an authentic mage's massage. You've more than earned it."


	7. Pleasure and pain

_If I don't believe in love_  
_Nothing will last for me_  
_If I don't believe in love_  
_Nothing is safe for me_  
_When I don't believe in love_  
_You're too close to me_  
_And that's why y__ou have to leave (...)_  
_When I don't believe in love_  
_Nothing is new for me_  
_Nothing is wrong for me_  
_And nothing is real for me_

_Dido, Don't believe in love_

**~o0o~**

Zevran rolled to lie on his stomach, hiding his face (and his smile) in the crook of his elbow. He was curious, he had to admit. He had been with mages before, eager, talented mages desperate to show him a good time, and he doubted that Tara, who was admittedly quite good but technically speaking fresh out of the Tower, could show him any new tricks. Then again, her magic had always felt different to him… and also, none of the mages he had been sent to kill before were healers. This massage business promised to be… interesting.

He felt her shift as she knelt by his right side, heard the wet, slick sound of her oiled hands rubbing together.

"My healing teacher always told us that it is important to have an extensive knowledge of the human body," she began, and he could tell by the sound of her voice that she was smiling, trying not to laugh. "'If you truly want to heal someone, you have to treat the cause, not just the symptoms,' she would often tell us. She thought that magic couldn't always do the work for us, that we had to know how organs, systems and muscles work in order to ensure a more efficient use of our healing magic."

"That does sound like our dear Wynne."

"So she gave us massage lessons, amongst other… less savoury things." She put her warm, oiled hands on the middle of his back and held them there, unmoving. "The partner I had… we experimented a lot with magic, in these classes. You know, I think you would have loved him. Sexy, oh-so-talented, a little cocky… and very funny."

"You two must have made quite the pair."

"That we did…" Her hands moved, slowly, one hand sliding up to his shoulder and the other down, stopping just shy of his buttocks. There was no pressure to the movement, just a light caress to spread the oil. "We had… a little game we liked to play during those classes. There was only one rule: lie perfectly still and do not make a sound, no matter what the other does. You think you can handle that, Sexy?"

"Under such torture? Ah, what can I say, hm? I will try and do my best to endure silently."

She laughed softly, "We'll see about that. We wouldn't want to be caught by the teacher, now, would we? After all, she's sleeping right in the next tent."

She ran her hands up and down his back, touching him first with her fingers, then her palms, applying a little more pressure, before digging a little deeper with her thumbs. He clenched his teeth, swallowing back a hiss. His muscles were not quite as stress-free as he would have imagined, it seemed.

She kept silent for a while, exploring his back, her hands sometimes lingering on a particularly sensitive spot. The whole experience was not quite pleasant, but not exactly painful either, and Zevran began to wonder what the fuss had been all about earlier.

"Maker, Sexy, these muscles you have… I've never touched anything like it. I'm not sure if I should massage them or, you know… worship them. With my tongue."

"Hmm… can I state my preferences or do I have to keep silent in order to not break the one rule?"

"You keep silent. You'll just have to live with the choice I make."

"I always do, my Warden."

Her hands stilled on his back for a moment before continuing their ministrations, but she didn't add anything.

"I think I see where the problem is," she said after a while. "It's time to begin. Are you ready?"

"Maybe. This is going to hurt, yes?"

"Oh, Sexy," she chuckled, "You truly have no idea, do you?"

She brought her hands to his back again, not touching but holding them so close to him he could feel the heat radiating from them. The familiar tingle of her rejuvenating spell began to tease his skin, but that time it felt like… supple tendrils of magic running over his skin, wrapping around him in a soft embrace. His body awakened under the touch, every little hair standing on end. It seemed to him like he could actually feel the air shift as the magic moved around him, caressing him, ghosting across every inch of his skin.

Her hands were moving above his back too, still not touching him, but he could feel the heat wherever they hovered, even more acutely now that her magic had awakened his senses. When she finally touched him, delicately putting her hands flat against his back, the simple contact sent a shiver of heightened sensation through his whole body.

The tendrils of magic that were wrapped around him seemed to retreat into her hands when she touched him, then came bursting out again, this time moving under his skin, inside his flesh. Magic rushed through him, every last shred of it penetrating deep into his muscles, pumping with the blood in his veins like it was part of him. He felt light… and powerful, like he could push his body into doing things he would never have dreamed of before. How he managed to keep lying still was beyond him, but he did. It was a matter of principle, and he had always prided himself on his self-control, after all.

She slid her hands slowly down his back, over his loins, and her magic followed the movement, shifting deep inside him. He felt it, hot and heavy, coiling up in his gut before moving to more intimate places, sliding slowly up and down as if she was stroking him from the inside. He felt himself grow hard again and he had to fight to keep his breathing steady when he heard a chocked gasp above him. She was trying not to laugh. She knew exactly what she was doing to him. He should have known the minx wouldn't play fair.

She kept up with this exquisite torture for a while, pleasuring him with her magic until he thought he would lose his mind, the desire to give up and just throw himself at her nearly overwhelming his pride in his ability to control himself. His hips started moving, almost unperceptively, as his body sought the friction it needed. A warning hand on the back of his thigh stilled the movement, and he nearly groaned.

He had to hand it to her: she surprised him. Magic had never felt quite like this before. When she finally started to really massage him, her hands pressing firmly into his flesh, rubbing in small, circular motions, the magic had rendered his skin so sensitive, his muscles so revitalized, his whole body so deeply aware that every touch felt blissfully, incredibly arousing. He felt like he could come without anything more than her hands on his shoulders and her delicious, sinful magic coursing through him. The fact that he had to lie perfectly still and silent only added to his excitement.

"_Tsk_. You're tensing up instead of relaxing, Sexy," she whispered, a hint of a smile in her hushed voice. "I must be doing something wrong…"

Deep inside him, the healing magic that was saturating his flesh began to warm up. Tension melted from his body as he felt the warmth working inside the muscles, relaxing them. He felt boneless, heavy, to the point where he didn't know whether he could move if he wanted to. Pleasure still ran through his body and he no longer had to make any conscious effort to keep still, so he let himself simply _feel_.

Her hands worked deeper into the warm, relaxed muscles of his back, finding tension hidden deep within the tissue, diffusing more warmth to get rid of it, every touch a burst of pleasure to his heightened senses. He lost himself to the sensations, relaxed and content, fire and healing magic flowing inside him, a rising tide of constant pleasure in his gut that was slowly, lazily bringing him towards ecstasy.

Then she shocked him.

His eyes snapped open in shock. Her fingers, cleverly spread, had sent a small jolt of electricity through his whole nervous system. Pleasure, sharp and sudden and incredibly intense ran through him, lightning fast, like a whiplash to his senses. Her hands pulsed again and he felt the shock everywhere at once, from his fingertips to his toes, in his hair, down his spine, coiling in his gut in a tight ball of searing heat. His whole body reacted, jerking, his back arching into the touch as his overwhelmed senses begged for more, a little more, just one second more and he would… he could…

She removed her hands suddenly, withdrawing her magic.

"You moved," she scolded cheerfully.

He collapsed back to the ground, panting heavily, feeling lost without the contact of her hands, empty without her magic inside him, abandoned on the brink of a mind-blowing orgasm that was slowly getting away from him. She didn't know, couldn't have known what she had unleashed in him, this hunger, this burning need to _feel_…

"Please…" he rasped. "_Cara_, please… touch me…"

After a moment of stillness that seemed to him like an eternity, she splayed her hands on his skin again and it all came rushing back at once, the healing, the warmth, the electricity. He surrendered to it completely, overwhelmed by a wave of white-hot, blinding pleasure that instantly brought him to a powerful, blissful release.

He rolled onto his back, breathing hard, his mind a confused, hazy mess. He was vaguely aware of Tara moving beside him, cleaning him up. His eyes, unable to focus, kept closing and opening as he tried to come back to reality, his mind still reeling.

"That look on your face is priceless, Sexy. Maker, I've wanted to do that with you since… well, for some time now." Her hand was lightly caressing his chest and he realized that his whole body was trembling slightly.

She straddled him, her hands resting flat against his chest. He chuckled, a little breathlessly, and tried to raise his own hands to hold her hips, managing to move them up about an inch before letting them fall back to the ground.

"As marvellous as your charms are, my dear Warden, I'm afraid I don't have anything left in me."

That last surge of magic that flowed through him at the peak of his pleasure really touched something deep inside of him. Moving any part of his body seemed like an impossible task. There was no tension left in him, none at all, and he couldn't remember the last time he had felt like this.

"I'm glad you enjoyed it."

"Enjoyed it? _Cara_, that is wildly understating it. I said sex is best when done well and you are truly a master of the art. I bow to your superior skills."

"Don't say that, Zevran. You were… You know, I've only been with mages before..."

"Oh? I thought you said you had some experience with removing Templar armour…"

"Ah, well, yes… Templars have some nice qualities too, one of them in particular was really cute but… well, they tend to be… hum, how do I put this delicately…"

"Virginal? Overeager?"

"Oh, that's good. I was going to say 'unskilled and premature', but yours are better. You really are quite the smooth talker."

"I do try."

She lay back next to him, yawning.

"… Mmm… sleepy now."

"Oh. Should I… do you want me to leave?"

"You're a free man, Sexy. You do what you want. As for me, I think I would enjoy some nice cuddling. I was so rarely able to indulge, back at the Tower. Sex was always such a rushed affair. I won't be offended if you prefer to sleep by yourself, though. After sleeping in a dormitory most of my life, I understand this quite well too."

"Then I think I'll stay… for now." Moving still felt impossible. The mere thought of going out again in the cold night by himself made him shiver, and she pulled some furs over them both.

"Then prepare to be snuggled."

She shifted closer, her arm draped over his chest and her head nestling against his shoulder. She was warm against his side, her whole body pressed against him, heavy in abandon.

"Hmm, this is nice. I could get used to this."

Her speech was already slurred with sleep. He stayed silent.

"You know, Zev, what you did to me… for me… I never felt like this before. Without magic, everything felt… purer. Sharper. Your hands on me were so warm, so skilled… and your touch, so… electric. Your massage felt like… like you were easing tensions, but also like you were taking away my pain, pain I didn't even know I felt. The way you moved against me, the way you touched me, it's like… you know me. You read my mind… or my body, maybe. I'm just happy if I was able to give some of that feeling back to you."

He swallowed. The way she spoke of him… he could have used the same words for her, to describe the way her magic had made him feel.

"You did," he simply said. "I… thank you."

"You have your own kind of magic, Zevran Arainai. I'm glad I met you. I'm glad you're here."

"Not that is not something I hear often."

"Well, get used to it," she mumbled, stifling a yawn. "Because if there's one thing that's certain, it's that we're going to do this again."

Smiling, Zevran closed his eyes…

_He was on the torture rack, broken and bloody, blinding pain wracking his whole body._

"_No, I wouldn't want you to hold back," he heard himself say in a taunting voice. "I'd be disappointed if you did…"_

_He hid his fear and his pain so well, his pride was so great… they would never know, how close he had been to breaking, to begging for mercy… how ready he had been to welcome death…_

He woke with a start, his eyes popping open. With an indistinct protesting mumble, Tara rolled on her other side, turning her back to him.

He hadn't thought of the rack in such a long time… what was that all about? He shook himself slightly, then got comfortable again, covered in furs. He closed his eyes…

_He was suspended by his wrists, his toes barely touching the floor. A male voice was murmuring in his ear._

"_I am your master now, Crow. It seems like the first thing I must teach you is… obedience."_

_The crack of a whip, so sharp, the burning of his skin, sudden and intense and everywhere…_

He opened his eyes, breathing deeply. He hadn't even been asleep this time. He tried to raise a hand to his face, found out that his body was still heavy, his muscles still reluctant to obey.

"_What has she done to me?"_ he wondered.

_The mage leaned forward to kiss him. He saw her slip, saw her head make contact with the threshold, splitting open like an overripe fruit. The blood pooled around her head, her wide, dead eyes staring at him without seeing… and he stood there, one hand still extended, unmoving for what seemed so long, he couldn't move…_

Tension was useful, sometimes. Necessary, even. There was always a part of him that was tense, wary, alert, something inside him always coiled up and ready to strike. It had kept him alive on numerous occasions. It had allowed him to keep standing, to keep going on even with the things he'd been through… the things he'd done…

_The blade sank into his target's flesh, to the hilt, the once sickening feeling now so familiar… He lost count of how many fell to that same blade by then, but the whole dance was so well executed, his body a pure, sharp, lethal weapon. He was in control and so good at what he did and he loved it… And the part of him that was scared of this got buried a little deeper._

Now that tension was gone and in his mind these flashes of past events he thought he had properly buried kept rising to the surface, as if some strange mental barrier had been shattered as if… by magic.

_He was sitting on a chair, looking up at Taliesin. He heard himself laugh, heard the discordant note in his laughter, even if Taliesin didn't hear it._

"_Do what you want with her, my friend. She is nothing to me. You want to kill her? Fine."_

_He heard Rinna's voice, screaming._

"_Don't let him do this, Amore. You must know I would never betray you!"_

_And yes, yes he knew, and he believed her but what difference did it make?_

He took a deep breath. No, no that was not how it happened, he didn't believe her, he really thought she had betrayed him…

"_Then why do you feel so guilty?"_

"_I don't!"_

_He was walking out of Loghain's office, a bitter smile straining his lips, feeling comforted by the knowledge that his life would soon be over…_

He tried to sit up, but only managed to get halfway there before falling back on the ground. There was no escape. What had felt so wonderful just an hour ago now made him feel helpless and trapped.

Fear gripped him. What if he had to move now? What if they were attacked, what if he had to fight? What if he had to defend himself?

"_So? Isn't that what you wanted?"_

_He was fighting Darkspawn for the first time, Tara's voice shouting in the distance, his mind trying to find ways to let himself be killed._

_What if he did not take that side step, what if he took a second longer to raise his sword, what if he didn't turn around in time…_

"No. I don't want to die anymore," he whispered as the realisation struck him.

"Hm?"

Tara slowly turned to face him, her eyes barely open.

" 'Sup, Sexy? Bad dreams?"

"Nothing. Go back to sleep."

"M'kay," she mumbled, her eyes already closed. "C'm'here."

She snuggled against him, asleep in a second. He lay there, eyes open as he fought to gain back control over his mind. He needed to _move_.

His hands curled, tightening into fists before releasing; then he rolled his shoulders, slowly, until the movement became easy. He turned his head to the left, then the right, rotated his ankles a couple of times and bent his knees. Tara, once again disturbed by his movements, rolled away from him with a subtle sigh, still fast asleep. He sat up, cracked his neck.

With the freedom of movement came a certain sense of calm, and he found he could think more clearly, reason with himself. So, he didn't want to die anymore. That was a good thing. Of course, there were some ugly things in his past. He had always known that. But the past was… well, in the past. It was done. No point looking back. He had to keep moving forward… starting by getting out of this tent.

He stood outside for a while, breathing in the cold night air. Now that he was on the move, he could really appreciate how strongly responsive his body was. He felt like a new man. Regrets and pain, he had left it all behind. It was useless to dwell on these things too much. He just had to… go forward.

Forward was… travelling alongside a mismatched group of mostly merry companions, a place where he could belong, a worthwhile mission to save the world and all that, someone to talk to late at night when sleep eluded him, a warm body by his side to fend off the night's chill… and mind-blowing sex.

Yes. Everything would be fine.


	8. Party banter II: On relationships

Wynne: You know, I was young too, once…  
Tara: Hum… what brought this on?  
Wynne: Young, and in love, and… you know… promiscuous.  
Tara: Well, this conversation is quickly heading somewhere horrible…  
Zevran: I could stand to hear a little more…  
Wynne: Wouldn't you like to know how much my lovers and I contributed to your precious little secret sex code?  
Tara: You had a code too?  
Wynne: Why, yes, of course.  
Tara: But you're so… hum…  
Zevran: Mature? Experienced? Venerable?  
Tara: Old! Maker, Wynne, you're like… ancient!  
Wynne: Why, thank you so much, young lady.  
Tara: Wow, just… sorry, no offense and all but… what was the code even like back in your days? Were you, like… erecting the monolith?  
Wynne: What? No!  
Tara: Slaying the dinosaur?  
Zevran: Rubbing the wood stick to make fire?  
Tara: Oooh, good one!  
Zevran: I do try.  
Wynne: (_Sighs_) How old do you actually think I am?  
Tara: Oh! Oh! Painting the cave walls?  
Zevran: Domesticating the wild cat?  
Tara: Riding the woolly mammoth!  
Wynne: Egads! The two of you together is a frightening thing.

* * *

Morrigan: So you are cavorting with the assassin, I hear?  
Tara: Oh, Morri, are we _gossiping_ now? Maker, I've dreamed of this day!  
Morrigan: Aren't you afraid of not waking upon morning?  
Tara: Huh, yes, sometimes, but only because I am so completely, thoroughly exhausted from all the cavorting!  
Morrigan: Well, to each their own, I guess. I just truly do not see what a powerful woman such as you might see in a man such as him.  
Tara: Truly? Let me show you then! Hey, Sexy! Kindly walk in front of us for a while?  
Zevran: I live to serve, my Warden.  
Tara: All right, Morri, look. See the arms, long and muscular, perfect for holding you up and… you know… sliding you down… and up, and down again…  
Morrigan: I did not need to hear that.  
Tara: You asked, didn't you? And then look at the hands, large, strong, with long, dextrous fingers… you know, they come with an unbelievable expertise in how to find small  
hidden places and…  
Morrigan: Truly, mine was more of a rhetorical question.  
Tara: Hey, Sexy, do a little spin! See those abs, Morri? So developed, so well-defined… this core strength gives him a lot of thrusting power when…  
Morrigan: I think I will be ill.  
Tara: And those muscled thighs, wrapped around you as he…  
Morrigan: Yes, yes. I understand. Now kindly leave me alone so that I may vomit.

* * *

Leliana: So what do Zevran and you have planned tonight?  
Tara: You know, I'm not sure. He's full of surprises, that man.  
Leliana: I bet he is. Over the years, he must have cumulated some… unusual expertise, no?  
Tara: Sometimes I wonder if I should ask him to tone it down a little, though. Last time he tried that… that thing I can't even pronounce… you know, with the special… the  
special stuff? It hurt for a whole day! I even got tears!  
Leliana: Oh, I remember. You expressed yourself very… vocally.  
Tara: And my throat felt so raw, I couldn't swallow right for a week!  
Leliana: He just gets passionate, yes? That is not always a bad thing, I am sure…  
Tara: Ha! You're right about that, Honey!  
Leliana: Even so, maybe I should stay with you tonight, yes? To keep an eye on you two? Make sure that things go smoothly…  
Tara: I think that's a great idea! Maybe you could even lend a hand? I bet Zev would appreciate it a lot!  
Zevran: Oh? Are you two ladies talking about what I think you are?  
Leliana: Judging by that cheeky smile of yours, I doubt it!  
Tara: It's our turn to cook dinner tonight, Sexy! Did you forget?  
Zevran: … dinner?  
Tara: No more of that spicy stuff you put in the stew last time, though. Just so we're clear.  
Zevran: (_Sighs_) Alas, my Warden, it definitely seems like the 'spicy stuff' will remain a product of my wishful thinking.

* * *

Tara: Hey Shale!  
Shale: So I see it has taken to exerting itself at night with the painted elf?  
Tara: It sure did! Wait… are you watching us?  
Shale: I thought it said it finds the control of golems by mages to be an atrocity.  
Tara: Okay, switching subjects here, but fine… yes, I do believe that depriving someone of his free will is wrong, be it an elf, a mage, a golem…  
Shale: And yet it has taken control of the painted elf.  
Tara: What? Have not!  
Shale: The painted elf told me itself that you hold its control rod.  
Tara: … You know what I like about you, Shale? You're unpredictable. There is absolutely no way to guess what you're going to say next.  
Shale: The painted elf seems quite content with its predicament. Well, as long as it doesn't order the Crow to assault me with its feces, you squishy things can do whatever  
you want. I could not care less.  
Tara: I think we have a deal. A… very weird deal.  
Shale: Fine. Now that this is taken care of… look at my feet. Does it believe that my ankles are thick?  
Tara: See what I mean? Unpredictable!

* * *

Morrigan: So, I hear you and the Warden came to an… understanding  
Zevran: Is that what they call it in these parts?  
Morrigan: Ah, yes, I forget you believe yourself to be clever. Just know that I'll be keeping an eye on you, Assassin.  
Zevran: We each have our weaknesses, Morrigan. You can watch as much as you like. I do not mind an audience, and I do not think Tara will object.  
Morrigan: You know what I mean. I, for one, have not forgotten that you first came here to kill her.  
Zevran: Ah yes. I forget you know all there is to know about us men and our wily ways.  
Morrigan: Precisely.  
Zevran: But if I remember correctly, you said you were living alone in the swamps with your mother. How is it that you came by all that knowledge?  
Morrigan: I have no interest in speaking of this with you.  
Zevran: Hmm… You told the Warden that your mother sometimes had company, but you never said that you had. Is it possible that… that you acquired all that knowledge on  
men by having sex with the same men as your mother? Or maybe you were watching her, too?  
Morrigan: How dare you…  
Zevran: I did not mean to offend. I merely look at the very limited information I had about your life and made my own conclusions. Was I wrong?  
Morrigan: I…  
Zevran: Some food for thought, I am sure.

* * *

Sten: Warden.  
Tara: Sten?  
Sten: I do not understand why you have engaged in a relationship with the assassin. Do you not value your life?  
Tara: Yes I do. That's why I usually try to enjoy it.  
Sten: You are willingly putting yourself in a vulnerable position, one where your life is at risk. It is illogical.  
Tara: As illogical as a Sten of the Beressaad following a Saarebas' orders?  
Sten: … No. This is a strange country.  
Tara: No kidding. Here. Have some cookies.  
Sten: I… yes. Thank you.  
Tara: Don't worry, Sten. You'll figure me out eventually.


	9. Focus and distractions

_There now, steady love, so few come and don't go_  
_Will you won't you, be the one I'll always know_  
_When I'm losing my control, the city spins around_  
_You're the only one who knows, you slow it down_

_The Fray, Look after you_

_**~o0o~**_

"Hey, Sweetie! Do I have to call you 'Your Majesty' now? Or is it just 'Your Grace'? How do you call a prince exactly?"

"How should I know?" Alistair answered, exasperated. "And no, of course not, you don't have to call me anything of the sort."

"Aw… but _can_ I? I think it could be so neat, but I keep ordering you around, right? I could say: 'Go there and kill those darkspawn, Your Majesty!' and then you'd go and say like: 'As you wish, Commander Amell!' _Oooh_, that sounds nice…"

"I thought I asked you to be discreet about this."

"I will!" she answered defensively before realizing what Alistair had meant, "Oh… Aw, they don't count, they're friends! You really think it would be possible for someone in our band not to know anything that goes on inside our little circle? Come on, you guys, you won't say anything to anyone, right?"

"Of course not," Zevran said amiably. "This is quite the privileged information, after all, and can be rendered useless if spread too widely. You have my promise of silence, Your Majesty."

"See?" Tara exulted as Alistair shook his head, sighing.

"In Orlais," Leliana added with a little smile, "there is a long list of formal ways to address people of nobility. There are even different types of curtseys, depending on the place the person occupies in the hierarchy. For example, for a prince, a lady would curtsey like this." She bowed down, almost on one knee, one hand in front of her, pressed sideways to her chest, the other on her side as if she was holding the skirt of a voluminous, heavy dress.

"How gracious! Would you like that, Sweetie?"

Alistair groaned and walked away, mumbling under his breath.

"I think you hurt his feelings," Zevran said, not quite managing to hide his smile.

"Aw, he won't stay mad long. I'm just giving him something else to think about. I think he's nervous because we've finally reached Redcliffe, which, by the way, definitely lacks a welcoming committee. Where are all the people? There's no one to welcome us? I bet something's wrong. I bet everyone's dead!"

"Maybe it is simply because we didn't send word of our arrival and no one actually knows we're coming?" Zevran offered.

"You're such an optimist, Sexy," Tara said, patting his cheek. "I always admired that about you. Oh, look, Ali found someone!"

"Optimist: one, doomsayer: zero."

"Shut up!" Tara said, laughing, as they got closer to Alistair and the man on the bridge. Her laughter died upon seeing the look on Alistair's face.

"What's going on?"

"They're under attack. Thomas here wants us to go speak to Bann Teagan in the Chantry to see if we can help."

Tara looked back at Zevran, eyebrows raised. He crossed his arms and smiled.

"Well, they are not _all_ dead, are they?"

* * *

The past few days had given Zevran a new perspective on their fearless leader. Their little affair had been quite impossible to hide from the others and, after the first night, they hadn't even bothered to try. He could certainly understand what a juicy piece of gossip they both were. He was satisfied with the way things were and so was she. He could let others have their fun.

Sharing a tent with Tara was also proving to be very… rewarding. She was a playful, fiery, passionate lover, and knew how to give as well as she got. In the still of the night, when it was just the two of them, lying exhausted and sated, she would show him a whole new side of herself. She'd laugh more freely, if not as loudly, an ungraceful guffaw that shook her whole being. She would cling to him in her sleep, mumbling incomprehensible words that always seemed to have something to do with a kind of food. She would also cling to him when she woke abruptly after a violent nightmare, panting and panicked, laying her head against his shoulder without a word, her hand caressing his naked skin until she found sleep again. She would smile at him when she woke upon morning, her hair always a tangled mess, eyes still puffy with sleep. He felt quite selfishly proud that he was the only one seeing that side of her, the side he was beginning to think of as her real face.

That day, as he looked at her running around trying to organize Redcliffe's defences, a sense of unease started to build, deep in his chest, an unusual feeling of wrongness. Something was… off. Leliana and Alistair were running after her, talking about Chantry stuff and other things, as if they could see nothing amiss, but Zevran knew something was wrong. It was in the way her shoulders were set, how she kept coming back to talk to the same people over and over again. Even the sound of her laughter was wrong. It wasn't until they were back in the Chantry again and he was watching her flirt with Bann Teagan for maybe the third time that it hit him.

She had no idea what she was doing.

She was their leader only in the sense that they were following her. Every decision she took was one that had been suggested to her, by the mayor, by the knights, by Alistair or Leliana. That was why she kept asking the same questions, why she kept talking to the same people. Through all her fake laughs and witty banter and empty encouragements, all she actually did was what she was told to do.

It made him wonder, briefly, if it was always like this and he was simply just figuring it out now.

Not that it wasn't a clever tactic, he mused. The setting sun found the town as ready as it could ever get. They took position uphill by the mill, awaiting the attack with the knights. Leliana was passing time with music, playing her lute softly and singing about some flower that Tara found for her earlier. Zevran took advantage of the respite and took Tara's hand, leading her aside, well away from the others. She had a wicked smile and a mischievous glint in her eyes when he finally turned to her, and he was once again forced to admire how well she could hide her true face.

"What are we up to, Sexy?" she whispered, wrapping her arms around his neck. "Something naughty, I hope? Here I thought you were kidding about that naked cliff diving… I really should start giving you more credit."

He wasn't actually sure what he was up to. He only knew he had to do something about this, because apparently he was the only one that could see how distressed she was, and… and they needed her at her best for the fight. Their survival depended on her, for a large part.

"I was wondering, my Warden… how well versed are you in poetry? Antivan poetry, specifically?"

Her face took on a vaguely confused expression.

"Poetry? Wow. I've vastly misjudged you, Sexy. It's a weird time to let me discover your soft side, but all right… let's just say I know a good poem when I hear one."

"Well trust me, then, you won't be hearing it now!" he laughed. "It was recited to me, as I recall, by a rather wealthy target of mine. Let's see…" He cleared his throat, winked:

"The symphony I see in thee,  
It whispers songs to me.  
Songs of hot breath upon my neck,  
Songs of soft sighs by my head,  
Songs of nails upon my back,  
Songs of thee come to my bed."

Her eyebrows had shot up when he began reciting, and as the poem unfolded a bright, incredulous smile stretched her lips. When the last verse fell, she burst out laughing. He was satisfied to hear it wasn't that fake laughter she had been throwing around all day.

"Oh, dear…" she said, breathless, wiping tears from her eyes.

"Oh, I know, I know. I couldn't believe that she thought this would actually convince me to spare her."

"So what's this, then, Sexy? Are _you_ trying to convince me to spare you?" She crossed her arms in mocked anger, her eyes shining with mirth. "I didn't know I was such a… an ordeal."

"Not in the least, my adorable Warden. I am already well aware that this poem is not a very convincing tactic, as the poor woman discovered too well herself. I had sex with her anyway, but that goes without saying."

"And yet you seem to take some kind of wicked pleasure saying it," Tara observed, still highly amused.

"I do, don't I? She still had to die, though. The poem was amusing at the time, however, and thus I've always remembered it."

"So what then? You thought to… seduce me with it?"

"Hmm, now that's a thought, isn't it? Would it work?"

She laughed again, "Why, yes, you sexy romantic you! Take me, I am yours! I wanna hear the song of your hot breath upon my neck! Hmm, actually… ew. Maybe not."

"I didn't think so," he said, laughing. He wrapped an arm around her waist and brought her flush against him, his other hand coming up to her shoulder, his fingers ghosting against the skin of her bare arm. "Personally, my preferred methods of seduction are a bit more… tactile."

"Ah, there's the Zev I know!" Her head fell on his shoulder, and he actually felt her hot breath on his neck as she sighed softly. Her arms came up and she hugged him briefly.

"The sun's coming down," she said at length. "We should…"

He held on to her, his arm unyielding around her waist when she tried to back away.

"You did good work, Tara," he said. "The town is ready and it stands a good chance of winning, and it's because of you."

She didn't answer, but her hold on him tightened and he heard suspicious sniffling by his ear. After a short while, she let go of him and turned away, the movement hiding her face. Her voice, however, was nothing but cheerful when she said:

"All right, then! Let's go save the world again, heroes that we are!"

* * *

"Escape tunnels make such very handy entrance tunnels, don't you think?"

"Aw, Sexy, stop it. You're going to make our Chantry-raised almost-Templar blush!"

"Why would I blush? I happen to agree, this time. They do make great entrance tunnels, as we're proving right now by entering through one," Alistair naively agreed.

"Think about it, Alistair. Not too hard, though. We wouldn't want this forehead to get all wrinkly now, yes?" Leliana said teasingly.

"I don't know what… oh. _Oh_!"

"See? _Now_ he gets it! Oh, he _is_ blushing!"

"Then my work here is done," Zevran said, rubbing his hands together in satisfaction.

"All right, fearless party, venture forth!" Tara exclaimed. "Put yourselves between me and danger! There are monsters waiting!"

"Not to mention our intrepid leader must be very eager to go rescue the Bann in distress…" Zevran countered, unsheathing his sword at the sound of toneless moaning that came through when Alistair opened the door at the end of the tunnel.

"What can I say? I want to see that smile again. He's got a very… _warming_ smile. Oooh, more undead! Let's do this quickly, shall we?"

Zevran shook his head, adopting a defensive stance as undead came pouring down the hallway. The battle for Redcliffe had gone as well as anyone could have expected. The town had sustained some losses during the night, but they had achieved an impossible victory all the same. Zevran thought he was still reeling a bit about that.

The relief – and the lack of sleep – was making them all a little… frivolous, perhaps, but there was more to it. Tara did seem more assured, less… lost. She also looked unnaturally well-rested. It was true that, during the two hours or so they had been able to lie down after the battle, she had slept in his arms like a baby. Well, he assumed she had. He had fallen into a deep, undisturbed slumber himself.

"Aw, look, it wants to fight!" she was now shouting, fire bolts shooting from her staff. The last of the undead fell and she laughed, hitting the ground with the heel of her weapon, holding a victorious pose. "Was there ever any doubt?" she asked, chin pointed up. He couldn't help but smile as he sheathed his blades, turning to move forward.

"Uh… hello? Is… is there someone out there? Who is it?" a scared voice asked, coming from one of the cells lining the corridor.

"There's a prisoner in this cell," Alistair said, turning around. "Do you want to talk to him before… hum… apparently, before we stand frozen smack in the middle of the corridor and do nothing?"

_What?_

Zevran turned around. Tara was indeed standing there, white as a sheet, the expression on her face one he had never seen before. There was no mask there this time: it was all pain, and doubt, and… fear…

… and _anger_.

"Jowan?"

Her voice was thin, shaky and broken, as if she had wanted to shout but the sound hadn't wanted to come out. She took a step, then another, finally stopping in front of the occupied cell.

"By all that's holy… you! I can't believe it!" the man in the cell said, his eyes widening.

She stood there, stunned, her mouth gaping open, a wide range of emotions flashing on her face, too fast for Zevran to even begin to try and recognize them.

"Jowan?" she said again, her voice reduced to an incredulous whisper.

"Maker's breath, how did you get here? I never thought I'd see you again, of all people."

Her mouth snapped shot, her eyes burning with anger, "Jowan!"

Her voice was louder now, a low growl, heavy with rage, the one word somewhere between a threat and a warning. Tiny flames burst from her hands and crawled up her arms, uncontrolled, pulsing brighter with each of her ragged breaths. Alistair took a step forward, one hand half-raised to grab her arm.

"Tara, you…"

"Shut up!" she yelled without turning around. "I can control it."

Alistair recoiled as if burned, bringing his hand back to his chest, fist closed. Tara breathed in and out, slowly, her eyes never leaving the man's face.

"I never expected to see you again either," she said at length, her voice shaking. Zevran had never seen her so close to losing control before. He could actually feel the surge of her magic, like a current under his skin, making his hair stand on end.

The man – Jowan – raised his eyebrows, apparently unaware of the danger he was in.

"You didn't, did you? Of course, you might want to kill me now, considering what I did."

"You would deserve it," Tara said, the thin veneer of calm already cracking.

"I understand why you're angry. They told you I poisoned Arl Eamon, didn't they? For all I know, he's already dead."

"_You understand why I'm angry?_"

They all stepped back at the wave of heat that burst out of her when she yelled. Alistair reached for her again as she began breathing deeply, his eyes wide, his other hand on the pommel of his sword.

"Tara…"

"You should go," she said, her voice trembling with strain. "You should all go. I'm fine. Go ahead and scout, or something. Kill beasties. I'm fine. I'll deal with this and I'll catch up. I'm fine. Just leave."

"You said 'I'm fine' three…"

"I know! 'Cause I _am_! Damn it, Alistair, can't you just do as you're told without arguing just _once_?"

Never had she talked to Alistair like that. In fact, as far as he knew, she had never talked to anyone like that, yelling in fury, magic bursting out of her in waves. This was highly personal, and she clearly felt they should be no witnesses for this conversation. Zevran understood that feeling, completely. Apparently, he was not the only one.

"Come on, Alistair," Leliana said, taking the warrior's arm. "Let her take care of this. Let us see if there is any more of these creatures up ahead, yes?"

Alistair hesitated a second longer, staring intently at Tara who kept her back resolutely turned to him. With a sigh, he then turned and followed Leliana further into the castle.

Zevran was turning to leave as well when a hand landed on his arm.

"Zev…"

Tara's voice was low as she hesitated, her hand lifting from his arm suddenly as if she was afraid to hurt him. She wavered, swallowing loudly, not looking him in the eye.

"Don't… don't get too far ahead of me, okay? I won't be long," she said at length, turning her gaze back to the man in the cell.

That was clearly not what she had intended to tell him. Zevran put a hand on her shoulder and she seemed to sag a little on her feet, the remnants of flames from her fingertips dying with a soft hiss.

He looked up at the man, a cold, assessing stare that had him take a step back and let go of the bars.

"I will be close," he said, his eyes never leaving the man.

"Okay. Thanks," she breathed.

He turned away to join the others around the corner. They were attacked by more creatures, but the fight was short, their enemies dispatched quickly. Zevran then took post by the hallway entrance, his back to the wall, and looked over his shoulder, surveying the encounter between Tara and the prisoner.

"Zevran," Leliana warned, "I do not think this is what she wanted…"

"Duly noted, Leliana. Why don't you go over there with our lovely Templar and pray for a while, hm? See what the Maker has to say about all this?" he retorted. She raised her eyebrows in surprise, but turned away with a shrug to join Alistair at the next door.

He knew he shouldn't have eavesdropped on Tara, and maybe that knowledge had caused his words to be curter than they should have, but his curiosity was getting the better of him. It was such an unexpected chance to know more about her, about the person she was before, and how she became the person she was. He was not about to miss it.

Furthermore, he had promised to stay close.

She was yelling at the man in an uninterrupted string of curses, banging her open palm against the bars to mark each word. The few insults he managed to hear were surprisingly inventive. She calmed down after a while, grabbing the bars with both hands, her forehead pressed to the metal, and they talked in hushed tones. Zevran strained to hear as much as he could, but he was too far away and didn't manage to hear even one word. Her posture, though… it spoke volumes of her sadness… her resignation.

What had happened between the two of them that could have marked her so?

At one point he said something and she stepped back, crossing her arms, and shook her head. She then turned away from him as he retreated to the far end of his cell. Zevran saw her wipe her cheeks with her gloves, then breathe deeply three times. When she began to make her way to them he moved, leaving his post to join the two others as they spoke quietly by the door.

"He's not coming then?" Alistair asked when he saw Tara turn the corner. She shook her head, her expression calm once again.

"No. He can't be trusted right now. Let's just… forget about him. We have some rescuing to do, people! Shall we?"

There was no wavering in her cheerful voice, no hesitation in the smile on her lips, no signs to show how much the encounter had shook her… but as they all moved forward, Zevran felt a hold on his shoulder, keeping him to the back of the group, by her side.


	10. Haven

_Tara pushes him on his back and lies on top of him, her lips trailing across his chest, and he throws his head back on the pillow, getting lost in the sensation. They are in some sort of luxurious inn room with ornamented carved bedposts and colourful pillows. He doesn't quite remember how he got here, but then Tara's mouth trails lower, slowly, as she licks her way down his stomach, and he doesn't care about the room anymore, lost in a wave of pleasure._

"_She's pretty," a female voice says from the foot of the bed, and he knows that voice. His eyes snap open._

"_Rinna?"_

_As if nothing was happening, Tara smiles up at him wickedly and sits up, straddling him, reaching down between them. He can't refrain from moaning when she swiftly guides him inside her._

"_Oh, and passionate, too," Rinna continues to comment from the foot of the bed. "I like her. You chose well. Does she know about me, I wonder? Does she know what you have done?"_

_He cranes his neck to try and see around Tara who begins to ride him in earnest, apparently unaware they're not alone. Rinna is standing there, naked, arms crossed, a dagger in one hand. A wound is slowly opening across her throat, and the blood starts flowing._

"_So," she says, uncrossing her arms and flipping the dagger with one hand as the wound on her neck opens up a little more, the blood now covering her breasts entirely, "do you want me to kill her?"_

"_Ah! Zev, you're so good…" Tara moans, and he looks back at her. He sees her, her eyes closed and her head thrown back in pleasure, one of her hands caressing her breasts and the other slipping into her hair, he sees where they are joined, the way he's pumping in and out of her… but he feels none of it._

_All he feels is dread._

"_What?"_

"_Or do you want him to do it?" Rinna says, indicating a corner of the room with a tilt of her chin. "I know he is good for it."_

_Taliesen is there, fully dressed in leather armour, sprawled in a comfy chair, a leg thrown over one arm of the seat, carelessly cleaning his fingernails with the tip of a bloody dagger, seemingly unperturbed by Tara's increasingly louder moans._

"_No!"_

_Rinna arched her eyebrows. Her whole body is now covered in the thick, red blood still gushing from her slit throat._

"_How do you think this is going to end, then, Zevran?"_

"_Ah!" Tara's back arches as she leans over him, bracing herself on his chest, her head still thrown back, exposing her throat. _

_He has a dagger in his hand._

"_Are you going to do it yourself?" Rinna asks._

"_Please. Oh, Zev, please, ah!" Tara gasps before suddenly tensing above him, a shiver coursing through her body. She then rolls off him, to the side, revealing Rinna behind her, her eyebrows still arched in questioning. Zevran stares back at her, desperate._

"_I…"_

_Rinna walks to his side and leans over him, covering him in her blood. She stares at him, her face inches from his._

"_You will be the death of her," she whispers before kissing him, roughly, leaving bloody traces on his cheeks with her fingers. She pulls back and smiles at him, almost tenderly, and she takes his hands in hers, crossing them over his chest. The dagger he's still holding is now bloody. Rinna presses a hand to his cheek, forcing him to turn his head to the side._

_Tara's lifeless eyes stare back at him, her naked body lying broken beside him over the covers, blood congealing around the gaping wound on her throat._

He awoke, abruptly but silently, his eyes opening wide, not a muscle of his body moving as his panicked brain tried to make sense of his surroundings. He was in Tara's tent, lying on his back. He remembered: he had slid in there to wait for her to return from her little reconnaissance in Haven. He must have fallen asleep, buried under the blankets and furs that covered the ground. He breathed in deeply, trying to cling to rational thoughts, his mind reeling from the nightmare.

Someone was trying to get in. Could it be Tara? There was still a fair amount of light filtering through the fabric of the tent. The day was still young; much too soon for the party to be back already. He tensed, hiding further under the furs.

"Stay," he heard Tara's voice command. A pitiful, canine whine answered her and she chuckled. "Aw, who's a good boy? Just sit for a while, and then we'll go play fetch! How's that sound?" A happy bark, then the flaps opened, and Tara entered the tent, buttocks first.

Zevran didn't move. She hadn't seen him. She couldn't see him, not now, not with his heart still pounding, his hands still trembling, wet traces still on his cheeks… He could only hope she would simply grab something and be on her way again, giving him time to compose himself.

She closed the flaps tight and stayed there, on her knees with her back to him, unmoving for a long while. He could hear her breathe deeply once, twice, then her breath hitched. She bowed forward, her spine curling until her hands were on the ground, her fingers closing in the dirt. He heard the very distinct sound of a muffled cry.

He raised himself on his elbows, slowly, unsure, watching as she silently crumbled, her whole body shaking with violent, repressed sobs. Her fists pounded the ground soundlessly, again and again, curled fingers dragging in the dirt between each blow. He could see the right side of her face, eyes tight shut, tears flowing out, mouth opened on a silent cry as she fought to control her breath, to refrain from gasping.

He watched for a long time as she shook and cried and punched, all in an eerie silence, her movements like an echo of his own reeling mind, his own silent distress. After a while, she slowly calmed down, hands finally resting on the ground, her breathing becoming more even. He watched as she sat back on her heels, head thrown back, and took two, three deep breaths before turning around and finally seeing him there.

"Zevran!" she exclaimed before clasping a hand over her mouth. "What are you doing here?" she asked, her voice hushed. "No, wait, stupid question… how long have you been… no, even stupider… ah, look, I'm sorry you had to see that, I'm fine, really, just…" she trailed off, then sighed, wiping her cheeks, apparently at a loss to find an explanation for her behaviour. "I'm sorry…"

"What happened?" Zevran asked softly.

She smiled, a forced, strained smile as her eyes welled up with tears again, "So, yeah, Sten tried to kill me…"

"_What_?"

He sat up, already reaching for his weapons. She stopped him with a hand on his arm.

"He says I'm a bad leader. He says he could do better. He says…" she choked on the last word. "He's right, Maker, he's right, what am I doing…?" Her voice broke, her hands curling into fists at her sides.

"He is certainly not right, _Cara_, nobody would follow _him_. How did you get this idea?"

"I don't even understand why I'm in charge, Maker, I don't understand _anything_… Damn it, why are you here, Zevran? You're not supposed to see me like this…"

She hid her face in her hands, her breath hitching again. He reached out, gently pulling her hands away, "I do not mind. You have nothing to be ashamed of with me, _Cara_. Lay down your mask."

She inhaled a deep, shaky breath, her eyes boring into his.

"You don't have to do this. I know… what we are. I understand. This…" her hand did a vague motion encompassing the two of them, "I know this is not what we are to each other. I like what we have. You're doing me so much good, I don't…" she trailed off, looking away.

"I told you I do not mind. You cannot be strong all the time, _Cara_. Nobody can. I do not think less of you, on the contrary."

Her lips stretched in a shy little smile.

"I believe you." She reached up to his face, her smile turning to a slight frown as she ran her thumb against his cheek. "Were you crying?"

He turned his head away, cursing himself for having forgotten, "It is nothing. A dream, perhaps. I am…"

"Don't tell me you're fine, Zev. Don't shy away from me, not after what you just said to me." She gestured to the spot on the ground where she had collapsed earlier. "I'm a freaking mess, Zev. This, what you saw? I do this _every day_. Sometimes, it's the only thing that keeps me going. Whatever happens, I smile and nod, and I think: 'Hold on, hold on, just a bit longer,' until I'm finally alone, until I can allow myself to falter. It's just that… I'm usually weak alone. You… you can't be strong all the time, either, you know." She shook her head, smiling. "Wow, I'm sorry, that made so much more sense in my head. I just mean… I can be there for you too. Not that you… damn, I'm making a mess of this…"

"No, you are not. It is… uneasy for me to…" He sighed, wrapping his arms around his raised knees. He couldn't shake it off, couldn't pretend he wasn't a mess himself. He still felt it, the hard pounding of his heart, the pressure of tears behind his eyelids, the panic in his throat. "You are right. It is time I talk about this. You have been… a good friend to me, and there is no reason to keep silent. I… never really told you why I left Antiva."

She sat cross-legged in front of him, leaning forward, "Tell me."

He did. He told her everything; about Taliesen, about Rinna, about his emptiness and his despair. She listened without a word, and he found it did felt good to talk about it. She stayed silent long after he was finished talking. He kept his gaze on the ground, unsure of what he would see on her face if he looked up.

"So," she said at length, "when you took the contract to kill us…"

"I never expected to succeed. What I wanted was to die. Maybe you cannot understand…"

"Why? Because I've been so sheltered?"

There was no real anger in her voice, no harshness. If anything, she sounded sad. Then words came pouring out of her in an almost uninterrupted stream, as if they couldn't wait to finally get out.

"Tell me if I understand then. You did something, something horrible, like… let's say like setting a blood mage loose into the world, and you think that your life is over, that they're gonna kill you, right? Except they don't; instead, there's this guy, and he recruits you for a very important mission, a very dangerous mission, and you think to yourself, why not? It's not like my life wasn't forfeit just a second ago… But then they shove this awful mixture down your throat, and you dream of monsters that speak to you, and the hunger twists your insides in a painful knot and you've known hunger before but this is so much worse… You fight your way through hordes of darkspawn, all the while thinking that you acquired all your previous fighting experience in a _library_, and that just last week, you had no memory of ever seeing a forest, or a field, and now all you can see is black, and red. You barely survive somehow, but then there's this other guy, and he tells you that all this, this is never gonna stop, this is your life now. That same guy, he wants you to be in charge too, because this is a Blight and the both of you have to save the kingdom and start a civil war and kill a gigantic dragon surrounded by the might of the darkspawn army. There are so many decisions to make and each and every one of them is so important, the weight of the world is on your shoulders and all you can think is that you don't even know how to buy stuff from the freakin' merchant, and how much is one gold piece worth, anyway? Everyone expects you to solve their problems and half the time you don't have a freakin' clue what any of them is talking about. And people want to help, right, but they're all kind of depressed, so you put your chin up and find ways to cheer them up, you hide the fear and despair in your own heart because that's what a leader does, that's what you're _supposed_ to do, right, motivate troops? But the pressure, the stress, the desperation, the knowledge that each victory is due to sheer luck and that there's no way you can keep it up, it's all there, all the time. You start thinking that the only way you can get out of this is by dying, but there's so many people counting on you, you _can't do it_. So you keep walking and fighting, giving it your all, thinking that somewhere in all these dangerous situations it's inevitable, almost like fate, really, that a dangerous enemy could get to you, could know his own victory, and then, finally, it could all be over. So you start to do reckless things, like… like sitting in a professional assassin's lap, taunting him, hoping that Leliana doesn't know how to tie good knots…"

He remembered the scene, waking up to the feel of her against him, to the sight of her, smiling, throwing away the dagger meant to threaten him…

"I would never… you were so full of life, _Cara_…"

"You're one to talk," she said softly, smiling. "I distinctly recall you actually saying the words: 'I like living,' in that same conversation."

There they were, both seeking death, finding each other instead. Zevran closed his eyes. His head was spinning.

"Do you still want to die?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper. He swallowed.

He recalled that first night he spent with her, when he was standing outside the tent in the cold night air, filled with the need to move, to go forward…

"No," he answered, opening his eyes to look at her. "What I want is to begin again. Whatever I sought by leaving Antiva… I think I have found it. I owe you a great deal."

"You don't owe me anything. You… you've been good to me."

"What about you? Do you still want to die?"

"No," she said, sounding a little surprise at herself. "Today, when Sten said these things to me, and then came at me with this huge sword, I kept thinking: 'This is it. This is what I was waiting for. This is for the best…' and suddenly I felt… rage, and… and refusal, and Sten was floating in a crushing prison, burning… and I realized I didn't want to die anymore."

She shook her head.

"I still have no clue what I'm doing, though. I just… I just want to keep doing it. It worked out well so far…"

"I think you are far better at this than you give yourself credit for."

She shifted, bringing her knees under her, and sat back on her heels, looking at him thoughtfully.

"The others… Alistair, Leliana, Sten, Wynne, even Morrigan… they are all so noble, in their own way, you know, they have all these principles and ideals and their own twisted vision of what this war is… but you, Zev, you and me, we know better. War is blood. Blood and death and pain, and it's ugly and dirty, and what's really important is survival. You… you never judge. You don't, because you know, right? You understand what this is really all about. With the others, I feel like I need to be… I don't know, a hero, a leader… someone else. But here, with you, I feel… I can just be me."

She leaned closer, her gaze locked into his.

He swallowed, "I am hardly one to judge, _Cara_."

"I know," she whispered, closing the distance between them, her lips meeting his, gently. She gasped against his mouth, softly, her lips moving slowly against his as she leaned even closer, bracing herself on his chest. His hands came up her back, taking a gentle hold on her shoulders. The kiss, soft and tender, abruptly ended in a surprised giggle as her hands slid lower down his abdomen.

"Are you _naked_ under there, Sexy?"

"Well… I _was_ waiting for your return…"

"You're incorrigible. I can't believe we talked about all this while you were lying there _naked_…"

He silenced her by kissing her again, her words dying against his mouth with a soft _hmph_.

"It changes nothing," he said, his hands trailing along the curve of her neck.

She already was his safe place, his haven. He could be hers, he thought as their hands worked together at getting her naked. One more thing they could do for each other.

Yes. Everything would be fine.


	11. Complicity

He jolted awake, every sense on alert. His hand instantly moved to his side, patting the bedroll next to him and finding it empty.

"Sorry, Zev. Did I wake you?"

Tara's voice, barely above a whisper, chased away the tightness in his gut, the feeling of wrongness that had woken him. He raised himself to his elbows. She was sitting with her naked back to him, a blanket tucked under her arms covering her front. Her form was bathed in the warm yellow light of the lantern, on the ground in front of her. He heard the sound of shuffling paper as her arm moved slowly.

"What is the matter, _Cara_? You cannot sleep?"

"Nightmares," she said, matter-of-factly. "The really horrible kind. I can't…" She sighed, rubbing her forehead with one hand, "I can't close my eyes."

He sat up and shifted closer behind her, leaning his chin on her shoulder to peek at what she was doing. "And you thought reading these letters would put you right back to sleep? What is this?"

His arms encircled her as he reached for the papers in her lap. She leaned into him with a sigh, pressing her back to his chest, her head against his cheek.

"Something important that I can't figure out? I want to be a good leader, I'm really trying, and it's just… I know so little. I was _so_ not interested in the outside world in my studies. I always found it… frustrating, that we had to learn about all these places and people that we would likely never get to see, you know? If only I had known…"

He pressed his lips to the back of her shoulder in silence and she breathed deeply. "I'm not stupid, though. I'm brilliant, even. I can learn. I can do this." She held up a stack of papers for him to see. "These are letters that we found in the King's chest when we went back to Ostagar. I could tell they got Alistair really upset, but I couldn't ask him why… I gather this is some kind of conspiracy, but I don't even know who half the people mentioned in these letters are."

"Oh? Political intrigue? And you wonder why you can't sleep? Here, let me see. These things are usually not as complex as the people playing the game like to think they are."

"Done a lot of political intrigue in your days, I gather?"

"The Crows were always involved in one intrigue or another, to be honest. It was important to know which options favoured us the most."

"Be my guest," she said, handing him the letters. "I must have read them four times already. All I can think about is… walking these ruins again. Maker, Ostagar…" She leaned a little more against him, falling silent as he began reading over her shoulder.

"And you know what?" she suddenly exclaimed, interrupting his reading. "Alistair spent the whole trip there reminiscing with Wynne. Wynne! He didn't even _talk_ to her when we were there the first time! That was where we met, him and me, you know. We slew darkspawn together, we had a good laugh about how I was maybe going to turn him into a toad… you know… we bonded. Well, _I_ thought so, but did he recall any of this with me? Noooooo… One of the most defining moments of my life happened there, with him. I even found the bloody cup, but nope, not a peep to me. _Pfff_… whatever. I'm not giving it to him. All right, maybe I'll give it to him, but he has to be nice. Okay, I'll give it to him tomorrow!"

"I haven't said a word, _Cara_."

"I can hear your thoughts. I'm a mage, you know."

"Now that is… an intriguing notion."

"Are you done yet?"

"Almost. It is quite difficult. I find myself being constantly distracted."

"Is that an Antivan way of telling me to shut up?"

"I would never."

"Uh-huh."

She kept silent after that, as he finished reading. It was as he thought: quite simple.

"I see," he said, placing the papers down into her lap again. "Very interesting."

"So? Can you explain to me what this is all about?"

"Absolutely. And you know what else, my Grey Warden?" he asked, peppering kisses along her shoulder until his lips reached the hollow of her neck. "I know just the thing to make learning fun."

She chuckled.

* * *

"Aw, now what?" Alistair asked. "I knew it couldn't be so easy."

Tara was standing in the newly opened doorway like she was frozen in place. At the other end of the hallway, a ghostly figure stood with his back to them.

"Isn't that… the man in the cell from Redcliffe's dungeons?" Leliana asked softly. Zevran was forced to agree: even if they were only seeing his back, it looked just like him.

"Maybe…" he began.

"Got it," Alistair cut him off. "Respect, privacy, space and all that stuff. Heading back to the riddle room now. Coming, Leli? I wanted to look at these statues more closely anyway…"

As the two of them walked back into the previous room, Zevran found himself taking a step forward. Tara didn't even flinch when he put a hand on her shoulder, as if she was somehow expecting it.

"What is it, my Warden?"

"He's everywhere," she breathed. "He's the last person I want to see _ever_, and he's freaking _everywhere_!"

"You should talk to him, _Cara_."

"Nuh-huh! I don't think so. It's not even really him! What would I say, anyway? 'You betrayed me?' 'You almost had me killed and you don't even care?' 'I trusted you?' What good would it do?"

"How else are you going to find out the truth? If you do not talk to him, if you do not tell him how you feel, if you do not ask him why… you are going to act rashly, without knowing the truth, against someone you trusted and loved… and that can have terrible consequences."

She looked at him then.

"Like you did, you mean?" Her voice was small, like she was apologizing for daring to ask.

He swallowed slowly, his eyes closing for a brief moment. His head was still reeling from the Guardian's questions, earlier. How could he possibly have known…

"Yes. Like I did. You do not want to live with this regret, _Cara_."

"But he's not _real_. The real Jowan is imprisoned in Redcliffe, remember?"

"Then call it good practice. What harm can it do?"

She looked at him for a while, and he saw all the fight leave her body at once, her arms falling to her side as she exhaled in a long sigh.

"All right."

She walked slowly up to the ghostly figure, which turned to face her as she approached.

"Had fun with the riddle game?" Jowan asked cheerfully. Zevran heard Tara gasp in a quick intake of breath, then exhale in an angry huff, and worried for a second that maybe this had been a terrible idea. Then she chuckled, softly.

"That is so something _you_ would say. You know how much I sucked in religious studies."

"Yes, I do," Jowan said, laughter in his voice. "I also know how much you love riddles. You always had such a sharp mind."

"The Guardian asked me if I thought I had done enough to try and save you, you know. He got quite an earful."

"I can imagine," the spirit replied, amused.

The smile slowly disappeared from her lips as she looked up at the ghostly man.

"I've done everything, Jowan," she said, her voice too soft. "I lied to Irving for you, and you know how much I liked him. I killed giant spiders to get that rod for you, which, you know… yuck! I entered the restricted area with you, I fought the Tower's defence armours, I… I tried to help you escape. I did it because _I trusted you_, so deeply and so completely… they always say we shouldn't get close to others in the Tower, that we can't trust anyone, that we should always be wary… damn, _I_ said it myself more times than not, but you and me… I thought we were above all that. I thought our friendship _mattered_. Turned out to be a big fat load of shit!"

Her voice was rising as she spoke, until she was yelling at the spirit who stood there, unfazed.

"It was _you_ who betrayed me, Jowan! Blood magic? That was the worst thing you could have lied to me about. Blood magic, Jowan! And then you attack Greagoir? You attack _Irving_? And you leave me to take the fall without even saying a word to me? Oh, no, it was all about Lily, was it, Jowan? Oh, what a heart-rending scene it was, two lovers torn apart by the cruel Fates! What about the friend that was left to the side, not even worth a glance, the friend whose life you had just ruined? It was my Harrowing day, Jowan! Did you spare one thought for me, did you wonder for a second what fate awaited me because of you? Tranquillity, or even Aeonar?"

Running a shaky hand across her forehead, she took a deep breath before continuing, trying to keep her voice steady.

"And when you see me again, after all that, are you worried about me? Do you ask me how it is that I'm still alive? What my life has been like since you left me in the Templar's hands? No! You ask about Lily! You speak as if you've done nothing wrong to me! Well now I'm going to tell you what my life has been like because of you and your stupidity and your blood magic: it's been a living nightmare! It's painful, and horrible, and bloody. I suffer through each _freaking_ day of my brand new life!"

She breathed deeply again, her eyes alight with fury.

"Oh, and I went back to the Tower, too. I've been meaning to ask you, as a matter of fact: who brought you to blood magic? Who taught you? Who gave you the idea? Was it Uldred, hm? _Did you know about Uldred this whole time, Jowan_? Did you help him? Do you know the things I had to do in the Tower because of him?"

Her hands were shaking again and she was crying as the words came pouring out.

"You know Niall, sweet, quiet professor Niall, how passionate he would get when he was teaching us? I held his dying body in my arms because he got trapped in the Fade too long! Remember Ronan, the funny Templar who taught us magic tricks when we were young? I had to fight him, _kill him_, because his dream of having kids of his own made him an ideal target for a desire demon's traps! And Cullen, Maker, poor sweet Cullen… they tortured him with visions of me! How do I… how can I live with that!"

She wiped her tears and exhaled, slowly, her breath shaky.

"Remember Maewann?" she asked, her voice suddenly too soft. "She used to love to climb the library wall and sit on the windowsill to look outside. We used to braid each other's hair when we were kids. She was my first kiss, when we were twelve, remember her? _She begged me_ on her hands and knees to spare her, to let her go to the Chantry, and _I killed her_. I took a dagger and sliced her throat open, because I knew how well blood mages could lie, even to their best friends, because there was already a blood mage loose upon the world by my fault and I couldn't let another one go. Do you realise what I'm saying?" she yelled. "Do you see what you've done to me? Do you want to ask me about Lily _now_?"

She turned to Zevran, hiccupping, her face marred with tears, "This is not going well and it doesn't feel better at all!"

"Yes, obviously," he said, a small smile on his lips to show that he was teasing. "I told you it would be good to get some practice."

She chuckled through her tears, raising both her fists to hit him in the chest, only half-heartedly. "Shut up!"

Without thinking, he opened his arms and she fell against him.

"Give it time," he whispered.

The ethereal voice of the spirit broke the silence that followed.

"You have come so far since I saw you last," the ghostly figure said. "Be strong, my friend. Do not falter. I have something for you. Use it well. It makes me happy, knowing you will be the mage that I never could."

He held out a hand to her. There was a jewel in his ethereal hand, a kind of pendant. Her head still on Zevran's shoulder, Tara glared at him for a long time.

"_That's_ what you have to say to me?" she spat, taking the pendant. She then walked up to him, a raised finger inches from his face.

"I swear, when I see you for real, I'm going to punch you in your stupid face so hard your teeth are going to come out the back of your skull… and you won't even know why and I won't care!"

* * *

The arl was awake. So far, Zevran was not impressed. Tara did not seem to be either.

"I don't care, really, what you do with him," she said in a harsh voice when the arl asked her what she thought he should do with Jowan. Zevran couldn't help it; he raised a hand, put it on her shoulder.

"_Cara_, we talked about this. Do not commit any rash action on account of your betrayed feelings. You will regret it for a long time."

She sighed loudly.

"_Fine_. Then I guess what I really… _really_ want you to do with him is… let him go."

"Now, now," the arl said, "I can't do that. He tried to poison me and put my entire family at risk."

Oh, that was the wrong thing to say to his mage, wrong on so many levels his head was spinning. Tara's blue eyes flared with anger.

"Why did you ask my opinion if you already know what you're going to do with him, then? I saved your entire family and sent his sorry ass to the Fade to free your son and it counts for nothing? You speak to me as if you care what I say but you don't, do you? Now that's gratitude for you."

"Now, that is not fair. I have already offered my thanks as well as a very suitable gift…"

"_Suitable gift_? What do you want me to do with this!" she said, fuming, brandishing the heavy piece of metal in front of her. "I've half a mind to have it engraved and hang it on Bodhan's cart. Yes, I can see it now: '_I found Andraste's ashes to save Eamon's ass and all I got was this lousy shield!_' You know, if you wanted to give a gift to Alistair and not me, you could not have been more obvious about it!"

Eamon said nothing.

"All right, so here's the thing: I know you have your own plans in motion for this crappy situation we're in, but you've been in a coma for the past weeks and I've been calling the shots, and from the look of things I've been doing a much better job of it than you ever did, so… yeah, we follow my lead, now. At the very least, if you ask me what you should do and I answer you, you do what I say. Got it, my Lord?"

Arl Eamon blinked. Several times.

Zevran smiled.

"My lady," Teagan intervened, his voice uncertain, "be reasonable. You need to understand my brother's predicament. The lad is, after all, a known blood mage, and Chantry law is very clear…"

Tara's glowering expression faded, although she seemed to try and cling to it for a while, before a smile slowly curved her lips.

"Oh, Teagan, you sexy thing, stop falling in love with me! You know I can't resist you!" she said, swatting him on the chest. "But your brother, he's… I don't like him. He's… he… he gave me a freakin' _shield_, Teagan!"

"I know," Teagan said soothingly. Zevran noted that the Bann was carefully avoiding looking at Eamon. A good thing, too, considering the look on Eamon's face.

"Plus," Tara was adding, sounding thoughtful, "Jowan is more the _pathetic_ kind of blood mage. We don't see this kind very often, so your confusion is understandable, but…"

"Blood magic is forbidden, a sin in the eyes of the Maker," Arl Eamon said curtly. "The mere idea that a mage can take control of other men is..."

Tara raised an eyebrow in mild surprise.

"Oh, but a mage doesn't need blood magic, my Lord," she said, her voice coy. "Making a man do what you want him to do is so easy, I don't feel the need for blood magic at all! A demonstration, perhaps?"

She slid behind Zevran, her arms coming around him from behind, her chin resting on his right shoulder, bringing her lips against his ear. Zevran smiled in anticipation. How excitingly unpredictable she was when she got fired up. This new confidence was a pure delight to watch.

"Hey, Sexy," she whispered in his ear, her lips brushing against the soft lobe. "Do you know what I'm going to do to you, once we're alone?" Her hand slid up and down his arm, barely touching him, with only the faintest, almost unnoticeable trace of a spark ghosting over his skin; but the memory of the _feel_ of her magic almost made him close his eyes and tilt his head back in pleasure, right there. _Almost_. He prided himself on his self-control, though, and allowed himself only a slight shift of the head to show that he was listening. It wouldn't do to seem too eager, now, would it?

"I'm going to find the largest, comfiest bed in this whole damned castle, and I'm going to tie you to it, naked and at my mercy. Hmm, maybe even Eamon's bed. Now, doesn't that sound almost… sacrilegious?"

Her lips were unnaturally warm as they wrapped around his earlobe, her cooled tongue teasing his skin, making him shiver as he imagined the contrast in sensations on other parts of him. He struggled to keep an impassive face, aware of the combined stares focused on him.

"When you're all tied up, naked and helpless, I'm going to make you feel pleasure like you've never even imagined, pleasure you never even thought existed. I won't even need to touch you. It's going to feel… a little like this…"

She blew softly on the bare skin of his neck and he felt the distinct tingling of her rejuvenating magic. He bit down hard on the needy sound that wanted to escape his throat as the heightened sensations upon his revitalised nerves provoked an instantaneous reaction much lower.

"With my magic, I can make you moan and scream until your mind is a wordless mess of uncontrollable _want_… I'm going to bring you to the edge, so close to your release you will hear yourself beg shamelessly for it, your body writhing and arching, desperate for contact, a caress, a touch that could give you want you need… and then… just when you think you can't take it anymore, I will use my mouth on you, lick and suck you, fire and ice on your skin, and I will make you come so hard you will see stars…"

He had to resort to relaxation exercises he had not needed since his training days to calm his ragged breathing. How he loved it when she was naughty.

"All of this, I promise you," she whispered, "on one condition..."

He waited, silent and unmoving, and he felt her lips move as she smiled.

"You get up there, right now, and you slap Eamon across the face."

He had to bite down hard again, this time on a bark of incredulous laughter.

"This, my dear, I would have done for nothing," he whispered back. "I will hold you to your promise, however."

"I'm counting on it."

In two strides he was facing Eamon, his hand pulled back. It was not a very hard slap, but the leather of his glove still resonated against skin with a very satisfying smack.

"Oh, do not be mad at me, my Lord," he said in a cheerful tone when Eamon looked back at him, fury burning in his eyes, holding up a hand to stop the advance of his startled guards. "I am but a weak man, after all. She made me do it."

"This is unacceptable, an outrage!" Isolde was screaming. "This elf is obviously hers to command! This proves nothing and is an affront to our name!"

"Yes," Zevran said, still highly amused. "Isn't it sad, Lady Isolde, that you don't get to choose the person who saves your village, your subjects, your castle, your son and your husband… and your own life too, come to think of it…"

"What are you doing now?" Eamon asked, his voice rumbling.

Zevran turned around to see that Tara was whispering again… in Alistair's ear. The poor lad's cheeks were crimson red and he was shifting his feet uncomfortably. She laughed softly and it seemed to straighten him. He walked up to an incredulous Eamon, his eyes apologetic but determined.

"I'm sorry," he mumbled, shrugging, "but she made me do it." His hand came up, and he slapped the arl on his other cheek, a much softer slap than Zevran's, but a slap still. Isolde was gaping in disbelief, but Eamon's gaze was almost… amused.

"He's still part of your team," he said. "You still haven't proven that a mage doesn't need…"

He stopped, and his eyes widened noticeably when his gaze found Tara again, this time whispering in Teagan's ear. The bann's face lit up with a huge grin as he listened intently.

Teagan took a step toward him and Eamon flinched, instinctively protecting his face.

"I'm sorry," Teagan said, "but she made me do it." His hand came down. Isolde stood there, stunned, a hand on her reddening cheek.

"You don't need blood magic to control men, my Lord," Tara said, her voice calm. "Anyone could be manipulated if you know the right buttons to push… but then again, you already know that, don't you?" She fished a stack of papers from her bag, holding them up. Zevran recognized them as the letters from the king's chest at Ostagar.

Eamon glanced down at the papers, then his eyes snapped back up to look at her face. They exchanged a look: two opponents, sizing each other up. Zevran could swear he saw the arl's lips curve slightly into a subtle smile, his eyes alight with determination.

Yes, she was exciting, his Grey Warden, wasn't she, Eamon? She always knew how to give a man exactly what he needed.

She was also very thorough in keeping her promises, as she proved to Zevran later that night.

"What did you say to the others to convince them?" Zevran asked her when they were both spent and sleepy, snuggling against each other in the warm bed that had been put at their disposal.

"Well, I told Alistair what I said I was going to do to _you_… and then I said that if he didn't slap Eamon, I would freeze him on the spot and force him to watch."

"You evil minx," Zevran said, laughing. "No wonder he hesitated…"

"… and I told Teagan that this was a once in a lifetime opportunity to slap Isolde and say that I made him do it."

"Hmm… I do believe I got the better deal. I have to say, in this little game you've been playing, I feel like there is only one clear winner, and that winner is me," Zevran murmured, his hands roaming over the soft skin of her back. She chuckled softly, her face pressed against the curve of his neck.

"Oh, I don't know about that..."


End file.
